


It is good to be home (I don't know what home is)

by Imaed



Series: Black Sails Company [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Ace!Silver, Cunnilingus, Demi!Flint, Depression behaviors, Established Relationship, F/F, Fix-It, Flint deserves nice things, Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Libertalia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, Pirates, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Silver deserves nice things, Slavery, Slut!Thomas, Thomas Deserves Nice Things, historical character - Freeform, internalized ableism, unrealistic politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 49,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaed/pseuds/Imaed
Summary: Life is a struggle (they all know), but never in a thousand years they would have thought success would be so hard working.Silver is King, but his tethers are fragile, he doesn't know where he belongs. Flint is complete, at last, but his mind is a treacherous place ready to fold him in new challenging ways. Thomas tries to find himself among the rubble of his previous life (lives?), but it is slow and not always linear.And Nassau is a barrel of gunpowder ready to explode.
Relationships: Anne Bonny/"Calico" Jack Rackham/Max, Anne Bonny/Max, Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Madi/John Silver
Series: Black Sails Company [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692313
Comments: 37
Kudos: 48





	1. Always something happening and nothing going on (Nobody told me there'd be days like these)

**Author's Note:**

> Part II as promised.
> 
> (which is rapidly starting to evolve into a 3 Part fic hahaha This is OUT OF CONTROL!)
> 
> I will update the tags as it goes...

“Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?”

Jack has been back from Philadelphia two fucking hours ago, with no one to welcome him or keep him up to speed and a stranger in his house (former house, whatever). 

The stranger in question is startled and ready to bolt, but most of all he is offended.

“Don’t you people have manners?” he asks “Can’t you introduce yourself like a civilized person?”

He looks fresh out of bed and for a small moment, Jack doubts himself. He is even in the right house? 

“Well?” insist the man. Jack has to admit he has galls. 

“This is Jack Rackham” says a cold (but fortunately known) voice behind Jack. “Who should know better than to barge into other people’s house unannounced.”

Jack turns around to find Flint (bed hair, soft eyes, a shadow of a smile on his lips). 

“This was my house first” argue Jack it is a familiar rant between them and right now Jack needs all the familiarity he can muster. (Who the fuck is this stranger wearing Flint’s skin?)

“I thought it was Long John Silver’s” interrupts the stranger, Flint joins him on the far side of the kitchen and Jack must say he is relieved a little. Flint always had an unpredictable nature; for all his façade, Jack isn’t keen on experiencing his bouts of violence.  
“Who the fuck are you already?”

“This is Thomas Hamilton, my partner” states Flint without a doubt.

Jack was flabbergasted on many occasions, he is proud to say one of his (many) quality is his adaptability in such a moment. 

“What about Silver?” he asks dumbly. The two men freezes, both in a very distinct way. Shit, Jack might have put his foot in his mouth.

Well, he was always prone to bout of exaggeration about his own character. 

“Where is he anyway?” Jack doubts whatever is happening here is without their good King knowledge. 

M. Hamilton recovers first and answers with a polite, very distinctive tone (the one Rogers used in the beginning, the tone of a man used to be close to civilisation).

“We haven’t seen him this morning.”

(We, Jack is no stranger to that tone. He heard Anne and Max use it plenty. If he had the time and inclination he would feel sorry for the poor sod.) 

“Well, if he comes back, tell him I have news from our friends north. And no offense but you have the worst timing” he tells the two partners. “We are in the middle of something important, bigger I dare to hope than your little affair.”

Flint takes a threatening step toward him but he is hold up by M. Hamilton. And isn’t it fascinating how Flint is attracted by small men with the capacity to hold his leash so efficiently?

“We just found an adequate King, could you try not fucking him up?” he jeers while leaving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from John Lennon - Nobody told me


	2. Love me tender, love me sweet (Never let me go)

The kitchen is silent once Jack is out (Flint should have killed him when he had the chance, was it only two weeks ago?); he is not sure if he can face Thomas yet. 

“I don’t know if he was a friend or…” tries Thomas for some levity.

“Hell no. Jack is a nuisance on the best days.”

“He seems to be comfortable enough letting himself in for a nuisance.”

Flint glances at Thomas; he looks lost in thoughts, frowning a little (he is an apparition, a miracle). He stretches his hand and takes Thomas‘s (Thomas hands used to be so soft: the hands of a nobleman) (his hands are rough and callused now).

“It’s complicated” Flint admits, taking Thomas’ hand to his mouth, slowly, deliberately. He kisses the fingers chastely. He doesn’t want to talk about Jack fucking Rackham.

“Are you trying to distract me?” asks Thomas amused.

“No, I just want you.” There is no heat on his words (it’s still too fresh, he wants to touch always, he can’t close his eyes for if Thomas disappears he will not survive).

“Well Lieutenant, how forward of you”

For a moment Flint entertains the idea they are in an English parlour, Miranda just around the corner, ready to tut at them for not inviting her to the party. He kisses the tender part of Thomas wrist. 

Thomas smiles indulgently and pinches his ear. The offending hands strokes his head next, no doubt curious about the fuzz. Thomas used to love his hair (Flint never had the privilege of seeing his grow because of the damn wigs, now he will. The thought fills him with wonder.) He is on the verge of purring, burying in Thomas’ neck. The fingers feels delicious on his scalp.

(If this is a dream he doesn’t want to wake up.)

They kiss. The novelty is exhilarating (he never wants to stop).

“James” whispers Thomas (it’s a prayer, a benediction). His touch turns desperate. 

Thomas disengages from their embrace, short breathed and closed eyes.

“Someone could see” he protests.

“I don’t care”

Thomas winces and steps back.

“Are you okay?” inquires Flint. 

“I just need a moment” answers his love, looking pale. He leans into the wood table.

Flint is reluctant to give him space but he occupies his hands by serving him a glass of water. It’s tepid at best but Thomas drowns it anyway.

“I would have looked for you” whispers Flint. “They told me you were dead.”

“I know” whispers back Thomas. It’s all very painful. “I don’t blame you.”

Flint kneels in front of him and rests his head on his thigh. 

“I will never let them take you again” he promises. “We will never be parted again.”

It pulls a strange (unhappy) smile from Thomas. “What about your King?”

Flint holds back a swear. Thomas must take pity on him he adds laughingly.

“We’ve been reunited yesterday; I don’t expect you to tell me every part of your life in such a short time.”

“I never intended to hide him from you.”

He holds his hand so Flint can stand up. Flint realises Silver acts the exact same way, keeping them a few inches apart; close enough for intimacy but never colliding, careful. 

“I think I understand better now” says Thomas. “I was very upset when I met him” he retells. “He wasn’t the most forthcoming. I don’t think it was easy for him.” He looks lost in thought again. 

“He brought you here” frowns Flint. He is tempted to say Silver isn’t the kind of man who sacrifices his own well-being for others. There was a time he was. He remembers how distant and quiet Silevr was for the last few days; how their last embrace had felt so final. 

“Shit, he is an idiot.” (Flint is an idiot too)

Thomas is ready to jump at Silver’s defence; Flint can’t help himself, he leans into him.

“You can’t blame him” scolds Thomas, he allows Flint closer, their forehead nearly touching.

“Trust me, I did worse.”

“You should talk to him” Thomas is breathless again.

(Flint is a weak, weak man. Silver will understand; he always does.)

He kisses Thomas again.

“I will” he promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, fluff everywhere
> 
> *A wild piece of angst appears*


	3. Seems you're the only one who knows (What it's like to be me)

Anne’s hands hurt. 

Her face and throat made a complete recovery but not her hands. The surgeon on Philadelphia warned her it might happen: it was one of the worst outcomes. Continuous pain in her hands meant pieces of glass remained under her skin, too small to be extracted: she would lose the ability to close her hands around objects. It meant she would never heal properly.

Anne never consciously realised how much she used her hands on her daily life until she couldn’t. (She couldn’t handle a knife, she couldn’t eat by herself, couldn’t dress, couldn’t fuck). She held the fucking carafe the night they talk about creating their own sailing company, but she could barely focus on the words for she was so absorbed by the task.

Her anger coils inside her, she can’t even rage at the world (it would hurt more).

Her journey back to Philadelphia with Jack confirmed her suspicion. He had been insufferable, always coddling her. Max, before they left, was more subtle, but Anne isn’t stupid.

She used to be the most feared pirate of the Bahamas, now she is weak. 

The ugly feeling in her belly wants to eat her. She snarls back.

“You look like Death tried to shew you and spits you out” says Jack when he comes back from his visit to Silver. 

They stays at what used to be the brothel (they have nowhere else to go they can call home). 

She hisses at him, not bothering with words. He tries to arrange her hair; she is a mess but at least she never cared about it before. Max enjoys breading it for some reason, when she has the time. She wants to bark at him to stop (what is an attack dog with no teeth?).

He feels her fool mood and kisses her head.

“Where is Max?” he asks. “We need to talk. Flint found himself a little English lord to warm his bed and throw our good king to the street.”

“Fuck what?” 

Anne is doubtful, Flint is an animal but his affection for Silver is borderline obsessive (she knows what obsession taste like, she can recognise it).

“Silver is indisposed at the moment” rings Max’s voice above them. She walks down the stairs like true royalty and despite all the bad blood and the ugly thing living in her stomach she feels the pull of want. 

“I assume you know what happens” scoffs Jack but it is easygoing. He is getting used in having Max in their life again. Anne would be grateful if she had any patience; but all her mind is consumed by the pain.

“Yes” drawls Max satisfied.

“And?” insists Jack. “Are we worried about it?”

“Do I look worried?” asks back Max, smiling serenely. 

Jack nods, pensive. Anne sees through him, he is still affected but it is low key. It shows more about his trust on Max than the great declaration he is so fond of.

“Anyway, Silver has disengaged himself from the Black Sails company.” 

She knows they kept the name as a joke but she is bored about this business of them. She would rather take a bath or sleep. (These are the only activity she can do by herself this days.)

“Would you mind keeping him company?” Max asks her. At first Anne frowns, why would she keep company to Jack, he is just here. Max glance at one of the room upstairs and she finally gets it. Silver is here.

Anne wants to cringe, Silver and her never really crossed path. She doesn’t like staying with stranger for long (especially now she can’t defend herself) (and that hurts harder than the ache in her throat).

“Fine” she agrees (because ultimately she can’t say no to Max).

She leaves them talking about prices or parlay or whatever. The door Max indicated her is ajar and she doesn’t have to use the handle (it’s a small relief). 

The room is dark and Silver’s form is lying down on the bed. He is all clothed (it doesn’t mean anything as far as Anne is bothered; Max is free to bed whomever she wants. But Silver? She has better tastes than that.)

There is a comfortable armchair on the side of the window; it’s the perfect spot to rest and still have a full view in the sleeping man.

Anne hums a little in disgust and sits. At least she won’t have to make small talks.

It doesn’t take her long to get bored so she watches him. He is obviously drunk and sleeping off the binge. 

He sleeps like only the exhausted sleep, immobile, almost dead. The stump lies above the covers. She is suddenly taken with the morbid desire to prod. (Would have it hurt more to lose her hands instead of just slashing them beyond repair?)

“Shit” she hears “I’m never going to drink again.” 

Anne snorts and suddenly Silver’s eyes are on her, suspicious.

“I heard that excuse often enough” she drawls (perhaps trying to sound as indifferent as Max, the last thing she wants is Silver catching on her restlessness). 

Silver grunts and holds his weight to straighten in the bed. He winces, no doubt because of the massive hangover.

“You are back early” he comments.

“Jack and Max are talking business downstairs” she answers he nods but doesn’t make a move to join them.

They ignore each other for a moment but Anne can’t help but wondering about the missing leg. It’s not disgusting; the skin is a little rough around the sewing points but otherwise it’s clean (cleaner than her hands which are constantly sticky from the sweat and medicine).

“If you want to ask something fucking do it already” growls Silver.

(She is pretty sure she used those exact words not so long ago.)

He stands, wobbles more from the alcohol than the lack of leg (Anne doesn’t know how to use pretty words like Jack and Max).

“How long ‘til you could forget?” she asks. “About your leg.”

Silver bares his teeth in a silent threat. Anne wants to answer in kind but the moment she fists her hands she winces.

The ugly feelings turns her belly again, rage against how powerless she feels.

Silver considers her and doesn’t mention her wrapped hands. Anne hates being under his scrutiny. 

“Stop pitying me” she snarls.

“I’m not” answers Silver, quietly. 

She shouldn’t have said a word.

“Will it heal?” he asks (she recoils from the question, but the truth is, it’s one she is more comfortable with than any other ‘are you okay?’ from the others). 

“Probably not” she hisses. 

“Than you will probably never forget” he says. “But you will learn to live around it.” 

He leaves her alone with her thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Women ! I feel like there is never enough of them :)  
> I love Anne and I'm very sorry we couldn't have a season 5 where she learns to live with her disabled hands. So... Isn't it what fanfiction is for?  
> Tomorrow Silver learns about proper communication ! (Kind of)


	4. You ain't never had a friend like me

It takes two days for Flint to come to her. Adeline still works at the house and feed her with bits of trivia concerning the lovers. She also brought enough material for Max and Silver to keep working outside of the Mansion. 

The brothel is mostly empty nowadays; only the girls use it as their own accommodation (it’s well furnished and they all have a room already, it’s only logical). Idelle is busy with the tavern down street and a few girls have found respectable occupation. The others enjoy a life without obligations. Max could envy them but she knows they will be bored soon enough. 

Silver hides in one of the room, working on whatever he fancies. She updates him on the Black Sails Company progress but he is mostly absent. She wants to slap him on the face and tell him to stop being a baby. Their truth is fragile though and he trusts her just enough to show some vulnerability. She doesn’t want to ruin that. She doesn’t need his input anyway. 

When Flint comes to her she is deep into the calculation of the profit margin. 

“Silver is missing” he states. 

She wants to roll her eyes at him but she has better things to do. Rum shouldn’t be more expensive than wine, it’s bad for local businesses.

“If you know where he is” insists Flint (or at least tries to).

“He is not missing” she corrects, not bothering to look at him; “he is hiding.”

Max and Flint had little occasion to work together since they came back to Nassau victorious. She mostly heard stories from Eleanor and Jack about the man’s temper. She doesn’t want to make an enemy of him but she gathers her new friendship with Silver would warrant a bit of loyalty. 

“I’m sure you know why.”

Flint grunts, more annoyed than angry. She glances at him and feels conflicted by the genuine vulnerability displayed on his face. He also looks very confused. Does she have to spell it out to him?

“He brought back the love of your life to Nassau, he thinks by removing himself from your arrangement he prevents you from making a difficult choice.”

She bears no judgement in her tone, it is a statement of fact. (A more honest one than Silver would have been comfortable with, but sue her; she is his friend not his mother.)

“He is the love of my life too” answers Flint.

“Well, I suggest you tell him” she concludes.

Flint departs (very dramatically on her opinion) and she breathes out her frustration. 

“You are an idiot” she says loud enough to be heard from the stairs. She doesn’t need to look to recognise the shadow of their King turning back to his room.


	5. At last (my love has come along)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaast

Silver runs. It comes back quicker than he thought it would (old habits die hard). He doesn’t remember the last time he slept a whole night or ate a meal. Idelle is insufferable about his health. 

(Max supervised it with a smug look on her face.)

He can’t receive grievers here (not without being found) and it took little time to realise how inefficient it was, receiving each one of them, one by one to solve their problem. (Being a King is not unlike being the Quartermaster of the whole island.)

It is a fucking mess.

At least the Black Sails company seems to be on its way. Max and Jack argue about the details every day (which according to Anne meant they agreed).

He had strike an odd truth with the woman. Anne was a lot like Flint (not that she would accept the comparison): stubborn, secretive and with the ferocious will to keep the one she loves safe. She wasn’t a talker but she watched him with a clever mind. 

He wants to shout at Max and Jack to stop looking at her like she is a skittish animal ready to bite their heads off. They are ridiculously protective of her and it is surely keeping her in a morose mood.

She hasn’t talk about the pain yet but Silver knows the signs. She lounges in his room most of her days, thinking, keeping him company (if such a silent presence can be called company).

Silver is grateful, but more so he feels lonely. It’s been ten days since he delivered Thomas into Flint’s arms (Max words not his). The truth is, even if they welcomed him, none of the trio is his friends (none of them are Billy’s dry wit, or Joji’s funny jokes, or De Groot’s tired fondness. They are not Flint sidelong glance, telling him entire conversation without even saying a word.)

(He lost them all.)

He tried to make friends with other crews but it seems Kinghood set him apart from the men. He can’t share a pint without it becoming awkward, he can’t listen to a funny story without nervous glances send his way.

At least the girls are happy to ignore him He doesn’t take it personally; they’ve been keeping to themselves since the brothel closed. They are not idle, they sing and saw; they write and draw. Silver recognizes Camille and Berthine who wrote the Farmer’s Ledger on Idelle recommendation.

Silver is very aware of the power play between Max and Idelle. It’s all in good spirit but he understand Max estranged herself from her previous life when she became a Madam; Idelle never had the occasion. They are still good friends but the girls look for Idelle now when they need someone to solve their problem.

Which is why he isn’t surprised when she knocks at the door, one of the rare days he is alone, telling him about a strange visitor.

He is about to protest he doesn’t want to see anyone when Flint comes in.

Of course it would be him.

Flint is as Silver always saw him: ready for trouble to arise. He is poised for a fight, ready to strike. It’s in the way in walks in, already knowing every way out; how his hands flex, ready to gun his pistol. It’s in the way he breathes, slow and deliberate, to keep his mind clear.

Silver wants to never let him go.

He knew the moment he sent Captain Morgan to Savannah he was on borrowed time (maybe he knew for longer). 

Silver wants to fidget but restrains himself. He tells the first thing that comes to his mind (small talk used to be is strength dammit).

“How is Thomas?”

Flint growls, very unhappy with his question.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” he barks. “You are going to ignore whatever happened and distract me by asking politely about Thomas?”

“I thought you would appreciate” argues Silver.

It is obviously not the right thing to do if Flint’s snarl is any indication. He starts pacing the room, which allows Silver to straighten a bit in his chair, his desk is a mess of papers.

“You should have told me sooner” says Flint with a dangerous tone “instead of sending me away.”

“I needed you in La Havanna” protests Silver. He can’t run forever from that man; he has been preparing for this moment. (Dragging this conversation any longer would be disrespectful and cruel for them both.) “He is the one you would have, I’m the one being cast aside. I’m making this easy.”

“Easy” snorts Flint. 

“I won’t come between you and Thomas” clarifies Silver.

“This is not a fucking competition” shouts Flint angrily. “So I can either have him or have you? Without a say in the matter?” 

“Of course it’s a competition, one I lost a decade ago.” Shouts back Silver. He takes a big breath before continuing. “I am doing the right thing. Just take this.”

“I am not” growls Flint, pressing against Silver’s desk, looming over him furiously. “If this is an easy way out you’ve been searching for, I can assure you a simple ‘I’m not interested’ would have sufficed.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not looking for a way out. But I can’t exactly share you with him!”

“Why the hell not?”

Silver is almost startled beyond words.

“What?”

“I’m not giving up on you” enunciates Flint.

They stare at each other for a long moment, Silver is too stupefied to say another word.

“On either of you” clarifies Flint. He turns around the desk and pulls Silver to stand; brings them very close, almost nose to nose. Silver shakes himself out of his stupor.

“Does Thomas want this?” he asks with a beating heart. (Flint cannot not hear him.)

“Fuck what he wants, this is what I want. “

Hope is dangerous feeling (It feeds you, it warms you and then it burns and leaves you empty). 

“You can’t believe that” protests weakly Silver. (It’s his last chance, the least of his resolve.)

“Fuck you John Silver. I decide of my own destiny. Not you, not Thomas, not goddamn England. ME.” He holds him almost painfully but Silver has been through so much worse this week he can barely feel it. “When I tell you I am committed to this partnership you believe me.”

Since the very first day they met, Silver has been drawn by the man’s conviction; he is been fascinated, obsessed. 

“Are you?” asks Flint. 

(It seems so out of reach, this happiness they might share.)

“Are you?” repeats Flint, quieter, more nervous (doubtful).

“Of course” whispers Silver. 

(He has loved before. He felt invincible. But Madi left him, empty and wanting.)

(Flint was never supposed to be the same.)

(He is terrified of losing himself again.)


	6. The bridges I have crossed since you've been next to me (You showed me there's a life worth fighting for)

The night is clear, the moon is almost full. He wakes up to the discrete sound of Thomas snoring. It’s not unusual. James is not used to sleep with someone so close anymore. He used to wake up every time Silver moved. Silver seldom takes breaks and is always fidgeting in his sleep (it’s a miracle he wakes up rested at all). They needed time to get used to each other. (James learns very soon that Silver likes to be pinned down to the bed, or simply hold while he sleeps.) (Thomas holds his hands but he is strangely adverse to more touching.) (He used to not care either way.)

James listens to Thomas breathing for a moment, waiting to see what woke him up. But the noise comes from further than their room. It is a sound he knows well (he heard it often enough on the deck): Silver’s crutch on the wood.

He is split between staying in bed and following Silver for a moment (torn between trust and curiosity).

“Just go” sighs Thomas (eyes closes but not sleeping after all). “I can hear you thinking.” He protests while musing in the sheets.

James apologises and kisses his forehead. He gets up and dresses quickly. When he is out of the room Silver already disappeared in the night. The streets are empty so it’s not difficult following him. Silver doesn’t look around or search for his way, he walks briskly toward the edge of Nassau and then beyond; the more Silver walks toward his secret destination the more he is intrigued. Why would Silver follow such an odd trail in the middle of the night?

They walk for half an hour until finally Silver slows down and climbs up a hill which overhang a very familiar beach. It’s out of view from most of the city; there is a lot of cover and a clear view of the sea. (It is where Madi and he waited for him.)

He joins him quietly and is welcome with a pistol to the heart.

They both look at each other in surprise. “Flint!? What are you doing here?” asks Silver.

“What do you think?” answers Flint. “Why do you lurk in the middle of the night?”

Silver takes a secret glance toward the beach and Flint can see three longboats manned by several maroon.

Silver puts away the pistol and watch them move as an uncoordinated crew.

“Are they joining the Maroon island?” asks Flint. Silver stays silent. “How much left the island?” he tries again.

“At least thirty men, most women decided to stay, or they were already gone” answers Silver in a low voice. He looks far away. 

“It’s bothering you” states Flint. It’s quite obvious for those few who know him.

Silver hums but ultimately doesn’t answer. 

They watch quietly as the crew of fortune inexpertly sails the barges.

“Could they be joining Madi?” whispers Flint. He knows it is a sore topic, he doesn’t expect Silver to reply.

“I don’t know.”

“You should stop them, we need the manpower” reasons Flint. They are stretched as it is; between the war on Rogers, the Spanish bombing attack. They don’t need the Maroon to run away on top of that. Nassau used to harbour more than two thousands souls, now they are barely six hundreds. 

“On what ground?”

Flint glances at him sardonically. 

“You are king, aren’t you?”

Silver scoffs. 

“I don’t want to impose my will on other just because it’s convenient”

Flint appreciates the irony. What do Captains and Quartermaster do if not impose their will on people? They are alive because they are both exceptionally good at it. However Silver has been on a redemption path since he was chosen as a King; trying to please every bugger who requested help (there is so many of them). Flint wonders where it comes from.

“I thought giving them land to farm they could call their own would be enough” adds Silver absently.

He can hear there is a deeper insecurity behind the words. They wait until the longboats are but a shadow to turn around and go back to the mansion. Or at least Flint does, it takes him a minute to realise Silver isn’t following. When he faces him, curious, Silver is serious and secret. Flint hates when he is looking like that (he remembers too well the last time he faced him, Skeleton Island was not so long ago). 

“Why didn’t you join her?” asks Silver. 

After almost a month of avoiding any conflicting conversation this is a shock to Flint. 

“You still think the war against the English empire is inevitable” states Silver with a defeated tone.

Flint frowns. “What I think is inconsequential.”

It is obviously not what Silver want to hear, he looks more agitated. 

“What sort of bullshit is that? Of course it isn’t” he protests. “You’ve been subdued for weeks now; and not just because of Thomas’s return. ”

Flint considers what he can say. It is true he has tried to keep most of his opinion for himself; Silver is working so hard to forge a new Nassau. 

“What you do, what you are starting for Nassau... I know it’s because you want to find another way out, but I don’t understand it.” 

Silver stares at him intently, waiting. The truth is very simple: he is adrift. Thomas returns was a joy he never thought he would find again; his relationship with Silver is good. He is happy (he thinks). It frightens him more than he can express into words. He remembers a time (not so long ago, not so far away) when his rage sustained him. Now, he is empty and full all at once; he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Worst he doesn’t know what comes next. 

“For ten years I knew where to go, what to do. Even at our worst hour, I could come up with a plan. I think Skeleton Island transformed me. Because since that day I can’t anymore.” 

Silver considers him under the ray of the moon. 

“When we were in the storm, we trusted you to lead us out.”

“What choice did you have?”

“We could have deposit you and surrender to Hornigold, but we stuck with you” points Silver. “Even when I couldn’t see where you were leading me and the crew, I trusted you would be capable enough to see us through.“

(It’s terrible how it reminds him of his conversation with Thomas, way before he met Silver). (He seems to be doomed to follow idealists.) 

Silver hesitates, not for long. “I asked you once to follow me the way I always did. This is the trust I ask of you. Allow me to lead you to safety.” 

Flint doesn’t need to consider his answer, he nods. 

“Blind faith isn’t exactly my forte” he reminds Silver with a small and depreciative smile. 

“I will get you through this” promises Silver; Flint can almost hear the echo of his own words back at him. 


	7. You're movin' without movin' (And when you move, I'm moved)

Jack is taking his breakfast in the dining room when Anne joins him. She looks grumpy (murderous for any folk who would dare enter their home). 

“I’m going to kill Silver” she says as a hello. It makes Jack laugh, he can gather why. For all Anne is a killing machine she also has simple needs. Lately Silver has monopolized all their time and attention.

Jack doesn’t have time to lavish in bed anymore, to tell her stories of his days (mostly how he cons people around him). Max barely sleep with them anymore, she is so busy she awakes with the sun and goes to bed long after it’s set.

They found back their balance, the three of them. It would do them no good to upset it (again). He will talk with Max if he has the occasion. They shall have a resting day every so often.

“He is not the one to blame” he tries to explain but Anne growls, she doesn’t care. Well, it’s their fault really. Anne is not a morning person (he used to joke she needed her morning fuck, but the truth is more gentle. She just wants the people she loves to cuddle with her) and both Max and his schedule had been disturbing her.

She looks beautiful, with the upset frown on her face, still dress in her sleepwear: the long sleeves covering her scared hands. He extends a piece of toast to her and she bites it; a segment of his orange also disappears in her open palm. His little storm is hungry he finds. 

“Wanna fuck?” she asks in her usual confidence.

“I have to go to work” he apologises. 

She grunts. 

“You sound like a fucking Englishman.”

“Honey you wound me. I’m just a simple pirate.”

She pushes his chair legs playfully and he almost topples over. He wants to chase her to get revenge for the indignity but she is smiling their secret smile so he admits defeat. She sits and munches on the bread.

Anne still can’t close her hands into fists and has applied herself to use all her other limbs to be as chaotic as ever. Jack can only phantom how unbalanced she is, as she doesn’t show it. 

“What are you doing anyway?” she asks.

She winces as the acidic juice of the orange make contacts with her scabs, Jack makes an effort not to comment on the lack of bandage and medicine. He knows his dotting is grating on her nerves.

“Darling, the correct question would be what am I not doing? Yesterday I draw wind charts that are going to be inaccurate as soon as the hurricanes will truly begin. The day before that, I have been reading contract in fucking Spanish so we don’t get ripped off by unscrupulous merchant. Today I’m supposed to write to our Philadelphian’s friends so we can propose them with a fair share of our profit. Then we will have to convince our pirates that this is the best solution and somehow to release two shares of their honest wages to repay the Guthries, whom they hate dearly, and complete stranger, who we rely on for leverage. ”

Anne grunts, not hiding her scorn.

“I know this is the boring part for you” he says. 

“Too much chitchat” she says. 

She fidgets in her seat, finding a comfortable way to rest her hands. She finally settles by putting them in her lap, looking at them murderously. (But with true rage this time, not the pretty annoyed look she had on her face when she woke up.)

“You and Charles always hated that part” he comments lost in memory for a few seconds. “And you dear, what’s on your schedule today?”

Her stink eyes raises to him and he realises too late his mistake. Anne stays in the brothel all her days. Her only distractions are the girls (who she was never able to relate to but feel weirdly protective of), Max and himself. 

“I could find you a book”.

“Can’t fucking hold the book. Also hate reading” she snarls.

Right, he knew that. Also he doesn’t imagine Anne stays silent in a room reading a book. It sounds so alien to him and so unlike her. 

“Flint” she says.

“Flint is on your schedule?” asks Jack incredulous. 

The look she gives him is so comically disgusted he can’t help to laugh. 

“You have a death wish?” she says with intent. She muses to herself before adding “He is good at the chatting stuff.”

“He is been cloistered with his little lord and Silver. Not getting involved. What makes you think I could convince him to help?”

“You are Jack Fucking Rackham” she answers and God he feels so flattered, so humbled by the way she says it: like Jack Fucking Rackham can solve all the problems of the world. He stands and kisses her head. She huffs but lets him hold her shoulder. Actually it could be brilliant. Flint is indeed very good at negotiation and even better at turning tables, especially when at disadvantages. 

He holds her for as long as she allows him but after what feels only like a few minutes she gets up and step back from his embrace. 

“Go” she says, while walking back to her bedroom. “It’s getting late.”

Jack wants to protest but she is unfortunately right. The day isn’t growing any younger.

He is halfway to the Warehouse, where he and Max have settled their affairs (closer to the Harbour, closer to the ship they are trying to organise into a commercial fleet), when he realises she never answered his initial question.

He certainly hopes she doesn’t plan on moping all day long. Apathy is a terrible fate, Jack has never been prone to it, but he saw what it made of Charles. Anne and Charles are strangely alike in their depressed state. Maybe Jack should deal with her the same way he dealt with Charles. Except he didn’t deal with Charles; Charles just disappeared one day and many days after. He came back with a fucking pack of wolves shaped into men suits. Charles had needed to prove he was still a predator. As grim as it sounds, maybe Anne needs to make sure she is still capable of hurting people before they can hurt her. 

He might need a plan to help with that. (Only another item on his ever growing list. This situation is starting to make him recall the time he was the master of the island. He is not sure he likes it.)

Anne’s idea has a lot of merits, Flint is a Hell of a strategist. He has not officially retired but he has been very discreet since the little lord moved in with them. (Jack would be the last man to judge on someone relationship status; but damned they had the worst timing!) No, it started before that. Jack remembers the journey to Cuba and Flint’s lack of initiative when they had to negotiate with the Spanish Ambassador. Even at odd with Silver, Flint had always been stubborn about his goals. His lack of involvement is very out of character. 

Now, if Jack really wants to bring him alongside he must act with finesse and tact (two qualities he excels upon).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings,  
> I have an unfortunate piece of news, updates will undergo a slight change of schedule : from daily to twice a week.  
> Editing is quicking my butt even thought I'm 10 chapters ahead but I keep rewriting some scene so it can be perfect !
> 
> Also I'm preparing a 3rd serie made of snippets so maybe I'll take prompt soon? If you are interested?


	8. And I won't put my hands up and surrender (There will be no white flag above my door)

When she receives the first letter she refuses to read it, on principle. She has no news of her daughter who left with many angry men (too many), ready to start a war against the world. She won’t be convinced to mend his and Madi’s relationship.

Even as she doesn’t reply, small crews are sent on her island to drop supplies he knows she needs. It is not much; it’s not difficult to gather he hasn’t much to spare. It doesn’t ease the resent in her heart, but she needs it too much to refuse. (If she was petty she would add on the resent since he probably knows). She always finds among the product a piece of paper with her name. She deliberately burns them. 

The ships keep coming, but after a few unanswered, the letters cease. 

Weeks later men comes to her on stolen longboats, with tales of freedom in Nassau. She welcomes them and asks them why they fled (is he a tyrant after all?). They relate a tentative truth with the freemen, a ship of their people delivered to his beach and how he freed them without conditions. They retell her how he gave them land to farm; she wonders why they left since she has nothing more to offer. The men laughs (it is a long forgotten sound). This is a bigger dream, they say; the dream of a land with their own people (far from the memories, further from the men who called them brothers but would sell them without remorse if not for the bulwark of the man they call King). 

One of them, a boy not out of childhood yet holds a letter to her.

“He said to give it to you. From one Monarch to another.”

She takes it (intrigued or disappointed she doesn’t know yet). She asks for her reader to join her (she used to read by herself, but her eyes grew old quicker than her people. She can still see far enough to guide them but reading has become painful) (she doesn’t mind, she needs to see the future more than the past).

Abenah is young and discreet. The Queen chose her well as a companion after Madi left.

She sits on her side and opens the letter. 

“To the Maroon Queen” she reads. “I come to you in a time of need in the hope you will share your wisdom. 

_Nassau is a barrel ready to explode and I’m afraid any of my action could be the fire which started it all. You made the choice of peace when voices demands to be avenged, when they reclaim blood and violence. Yet you put aside their wishes for you had a bigger dream. My question is simple and difficult at the same time: how?_

_I am (as I have always been destined to, it seems) aware that I am not the only man who endeavored such an ambition._

_Jack Rackham who is one of my adviser (I suppose it is the proper name) attempted it with all his might and the reasons of his failures are still unclear to me. He had a fortune and an understanding of the men I can only wish to achieve._

_Wood Rogers for all the treachery we exposed genuinely wanted to succeed and he had the support of an Empire, the epitome of civilization._

_Before them, men and women tried and failed._

_Who am I to succeed where they failed?_

_I come to you because you are Queen, even though you did not choose it. I come to you because you built a Nation where only wildness could be found, both in your island and in the heart of your people._

_How did you keep them safe, from any threat including themselves?_

_I know you have no reason to help me, that what we took from you is more than what I can ever repay. I hope the trust we had is salvageable enough you will grant me your guidance._

_John Silver_

The letter ends and Abenah waits for her Queen to speak, she sits quietly and allow her the time to consider what she wants to do next. (Madi would have spoken her mind by then. But Madi isn’t here.)

The Queen wishes she could laugh, she remembers all too well the man who wrote that letter (who stole her daughter and then realises his mistake). She saw him become the King he is now, how he raise beyond his pain, beyond his selfishness. She watched from afar as he sharpened his focus on the men he led (how he overpowered slowly the man he called his Captain). 

She remembers her own beginning. She had wished too for a kind shoulder she could rest on when she had her doubt, when she didn’t know where to go next. 

She gave it to Madi (she never wanted her daughter to feel as alone as she had been as a Queen) (nobody taught her, she had to learn by herself) (it seems John Silver too is learning). 

“Read it again” she requests.

Abenah nods and take the letter: “To the Maroon Queen”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Dear,  
> this is a fair warning the Timeline is going to be slightly insane because I don't write this in the right order and as editing is definitively kicking my butt I'm trying my very best.  
> I'm going to correct it as much as I can but if you are confused or if there is a lack of continuity you spot I missed please let me know. 
> 
> *For instance in chapter You're movin' without movin' Anne knows how to read (okay I completly forgot about the letter from Jack in S3)*
> 
> I love you <3


	9. Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid (And I'm still standing after all this time)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING ! This is a chapter on Thomas POV, he's been through a lot. Mind the tag : Eating disorder, PTSD, mention of dissociation, traveler sickness, depression behaviors, torture recovery
> 
> if you are sensitive to these tags I can add a short resume at the beginning of chapter 10
> 
> Drink water, take your meds, don't forget your tea, sleep if you need to. Taking care of yourself is very important.

Time is bringing him back to himself little by little. It is a painful process. 

For instance: Thomas hates sleeping. 

He can turn for hours, crease the sheet, worry his own mind to exhaustion in peace. Only then when his body is begging for sleep can he truly rest. When the insomnia started he chased James out of his bedroom pretexting they spend enough time together in the day; that it is the only moment he has alone with Long John Silver. James agreed more out of kindness than conviction. Now Thomas can avoid sleep without the concern in his lover’s face. 

Thomas hates the food. 

It is too spicy, too rich. He finds no pleasure in the taste and his stomach wails in agony with each mouthful. He suffers the indignity of sickness on the chamber pot ether by one end or the other. He smells the acrid of Bedlam decoction in his breath (he knows it’s not there but the memory lingers). He tried missing a few meals but James worried eyes are a compelling force. Thomas cannot go hungry. (It’s stupid, he knows the dangers of famine; he saw it often enough in Savannah.) 

The worst of it all is: Thomas hates to be touched. 

Every brush of skin contact is torture. It was the first thing Bedlam deprived him of. He remembers being cold and alone in a small room, Doctors he couldn’t see the face of forcing him to do the unspeakable. He remembers it was then he lost most of his self (not because they made him, but to protect himself from the endless days of pain).

Savannah was never this difficult: he was constantly exhausted by his work and always slept like the dead; Savannah’s food was bland and filling, never intending to bring him anything more than the energy required to work; Savannah was packed with people, always bumping into each other but no one tried to touch him with intent. He was so empty pain was unnecessary, joy became irrelevant. He existed, nothing else. He had wished someday he could even stop such a small feat.

It seems the only way for Thomas to rediscover who he is, is through hate. 

Except for one thing.

He hears the heavy boots before the knock on the door. James doesn’t wait for him to answer, he opens the door ajar and his eyes find him so fast Thomas feels dizzy for him. 

“You are awake” he says. 

Thomas hums, silenced in humility by the kind illusion. 

This cannot be what reality is. No God, no man would be merciful enough to bring him back James McGraw. 

This must be the dream; Bedlam, Savannah, they are the reality of this world (of his world).

“I brought breakfast” says James’s voice; almost a whisper (like a secret between them, like he is not really there).

Thomas is not hungry (he never is) but he wants the illusion to come closer. He wants to have him for real: not a ghost, not a figment of his imagination, not a memory, not a dream.

(He must have gone mad.)

James puts the tray on the cover; it holds hot porridge and a fruit Thomas doesn’t recognize. His stomach contracts in dread, Thomas smiles. 

James sits on the bedside and watches him like one of the seven wonder. (He’s got it all wrong. James is the miracle, not Thomas. Never Thomas.)

“How did you sleep?” asks James. 

One week ago, Thomas wasn’t alive enough in his own mind to discern right from wrong. He followed where he was led, he asked no questions; his rage when he arrived in Nassau was such an oddity. Thomas has no idea where he found the energy, the self-awareness.

Today he can muster a lie. (Maybe tomorrow he can try to laugh.)

“Fine”

He savors the sound of it, the roundness of the word, the untruth behind it. (Is it what newborn feel like?)

James doesn’t contradict him; Thomas is not enough himself yet to recognize if he believed him. 

James is both… unchanged by their time apart and a total stranger. The main factor seems to be his link with the outside world. When they are alone Thomas can almost make abstraction of the heat and the ache in his very core and believe himself back in London. As soon as an agent of the outside world disturbs their bubble James grows distant and hard; stiff as a rock. 

Thomas supposes there is at least one noticeable exception. 

(Long John Silver is an absent shadow in this place, haunting what Thomas guesses is the office and his bedroom where James joins him at night).

(Thomas doesn’t resent James affection; he can even understand it in a fashion. Long John Silver would be a fascinating man, Thomas supposes. If the man wasn’t so proficient in excuses to leave the room as soon as Thomas was here, he might even learn a bit about why.)

James is unphased by his silence. He grows used to them. Thomas re-adapts slowly to life with others who care around him. It means talking, not evading in his own mind when it is convenient. It also means so many choices. Days are so long in the Caribbean, he doesn’t know what to do with all this time (not working). (He almost wept when James gave him a book. He hadn’t laid eyes on one in ten years.)

“Would you like to go out today?” James asks carefully. 

Thomas considers the question. He never felt as a prisoner in the house, even though he never went out. He never found the energy nor the inclination. 

James’s hand moves slowly toward his head; maybe to run in his hair, maybe to stroke his cheek, Thomas doesn’t know. He recoils on instinct, instantly regrets it. (His mind flashes with the harsh memory of hands pulling his hair to force down beverages on his throat; even harsher when he regurgitated the alleged evil inside of him). James’s hand retreats as slowly as it rose. It takes a conscious effort for Thomas to catch it and put it on his throat, caressing the skin methodically. 

“Of course” he says. He doesn’t remember what they were talking about. (His mind is not his own yet, but it will all come back, slowly.) James smiles and with no subtlety at all, brings him back to the breakfast in front of him. The porridge is cold but it is fulling and sugary. Thomas eats until his throat threatens to throw up, James’s hand a warm weight on his skin. (It grates on his skin like sand paper, he intended the gesture to be a concession, he is willing to ignore his own discomfort for now.)

“Would you like to take a bath?”

(Why does every action he undertakes must be so bloody complicated? It’s been ten years since anyone asked what he wanted. He can’t be expected to take all the decision by himself so abruptly!)

Thomas is sweaty from last night and the few days he managed to escape the chore (he probably smells rancid for James to suggest a bath), he is been wearing the same clothes since the very day he arrived in Nassau. He knows he will have to submit to it sooner or later. (He also knows it is not reasonable; he had taken a bath here before. But he was still deep into his fog then, unaware of his nudity, of the witnesses.) 

“Later” he lies again. Maybe he will gain the capacity to ask for what he wants by then instead of waiting for James to guess. 

“I will make arrangements” says James, he takes back the tray and leaves the room. 

Thomas takes the few minutes to enjoy the reprieve of loneliness. He takes a fortifying breath and stands, leaving the relative safety of his bed to waits for James at the front door.

It’s a lovely day, with just enough wind to keep hot but not suffocating. James leads him in the town centre.

None of the streets makes any sense to Thomas, it seems only chaos would explains the layout of the city. James is unbothered by the lack of order; he walks toward what must be a market.

It’s buzzing with people; Thomas can’t see any product on the stalls. The townspeople mingle with sailors and merchants, chatting sometimes happily sometimes secretly. 

None dares to cross path with James, a few will greet him with solemn expressions but not too friendly. It takes a long moment to recognise the suspicion in their looks.

“You don’t seem very popular” he notices aloud. 

James smiles indulgently “Their opinion is as changing as the tide. It will pass soon enough.”

“I would have thought that your position besides Long John Silver would warrant more… respect.”

"Don't call him that" 

"It's his name" reasons Thomas. 

It’s difficult to form an opinion on the Pirate King when they are both so secret with information.

“They are not as happy with me as they are with Silver” explains succinctly James. 

Thomas wants to ask why but the fragile recovery of his control is exhausting. He doesn’t have it in him to protest against James protective nature or Long John Silver fleeting one. Not yet. He distracts himself with the emerging urban area.

Nassau is beautiful. It is full of life and full of oddities. He takes a moment to appreciate the chaotic architecture around him. Occasionally it’s as if houses have spontaneously sprouted from the earth, woods structures sometimes built directly on living trees, palms-leaf used as a roof.

He lets himself be moved by James benevolent nudges (not imposing, just brush of a hand on his back or his shoulder) orienting their stroll. 

He takes a moment to enjoy the simple pleasures, rediscovering them: feeling the sun on his face without the knowledge he will have to stay under in the harsh hours, the sight of happy and free people.

He stops often to store those moments in his mind. It must be midday when James sees his weariness he takes a worried glance in his direction and decides to turn around to go back to the Mansion. Thomas gratefully follows.


	10. Paint your smile on your lips (Blood red nails on your fingertips)

Max wakes up with a hand on her breast and a cramp in her belly. She growls and wishes for the fucking world to end. Nassau’s weather is hot enough that her bleeding won’t last more than a day or two but she still hates it. She is late again; it’s not surprising with the pressure she is under. 

The bed is nice and the skin on her back even nicer. Jack is right, they definitively should take days off. Unfortunately for her, today is not one of them. 

When she sits on the bed, the sight she discovers almost makes her revisit her assessment. Anne is sleeping peacefully, Jack fully plastered on her back. It was his hand on her breast it seems. They are sweaty and warm (sleeping with two bodies in the Bahamas does that). Anne’s hair is a mess of knots and unravelling plaits (don’t let her start on Jack’s; it have a life of their own, she doubts it has ever known a comb in its life). 

Anne protests in her sleep from her missing partner. Jack comforts her instantly. Their closeness used to drive her to jealousy. She would use every trick on her knowledge to keep Anne to herself (and she has many). It pleased her to be Anne sole focus, to ensnare her in her body, to make her come until the only name she could say was hers. (It didn’t last; she remembers how it made her feel like a fucking Queen at the time.)

“It’s not morning yet” mumbles Jack. Max allows herself a glance at the window; indeed it is still dark outside. 

Unfortunately it is also the hour she can work the most efficiently because no one will disturb her. Soon enough the first worker will come and ask for food.

They decided to feed anyone in exchange for labour (she would have preferred they pay but Silver insisted most of the people of Nassau didn’t have the money anyway). Every morning she draws a map of all the tasks that must be done before the beginning of the Hurricane season (she lets Jack deal with the Harbour preparation, even if she understood enough about boat to do it the sailors wouldn’t listen) and distributes them at breakfast. The strategy has been an effective way to keep everyone busy and fed, she admits.

She finally rises and goes for a quick wash on a basin. She isn’t bleeding yet but her skin is too sensitive and her breast is heavier than what Nature should allow. She tries to distract herself. 

Idelle is happy to man the Tavern and orders her own little crew of cook around; she has claimed it as her territory. Their friendship is still a bit rough but Max agreed to let the girls make their own decision (even if she thinks they are the wrong one). Idelle has Silver’s support and right now it is enough to keep Max out of her business. 

She breathes out in discomfort. She wished she had enough time for a quick fuck before going; it would alleviate her body for a few hours.

She dresses as sharp as always, ignoring the pressure in her belly. She is no longer Max, she is one of the Ruler of this dreaded island. She looks one last time to her lovers by the mirror. 

She knows Anne withdrawn from them lately; she heard Idelle new (and yet old) warnings. Max selfishly hopes Anne will contain her unhinged behaviour just a little longer (or that Jack will take care of it). She hates herself a little bit for such an uncharitable thought. All the more so, Anne and Jack trust in her is still fragile. Philadephia did a lot of mending in their relationship; she has no illusion they are all the way there yet. 

At this time of the day Nassau is dead silent. She knows the Warehouse by the dock will be too; no man calling himself a Captain would navigate Nassau’s bay at night. It’s too dangerous, especially since they still haven’t entirely salvaged the two ships Rogers sank to stop fucking Flint and his consorts from taking the city.

God, it feels like a lifetime ago.

She takes no pleasure in the memory (on Eleanor calm and gentle face, on Anne’s betrayal, on her own lack of foresight). She keeps busy, she doesn’t have time for sentiment. They still have two long weeks of Hurricane season before we can even think of opening the trading routes.

Morgan came back yesterday from his mysterious monthly mission. Since his return from Savannah, Silver ordered him to drop supplies to a place he is not allowed to disclose with just enough of a crew to man his ship. Of all her worries, Silver’s secret nature keeps her the most on her toes. She has arranged for contingency plans on every disaster she can think of; yet he still surprises her by creating new ones. 

She is also a little impressed by his ability to withstand every trouble arising without upsetting the balance they work so hard to set up. He reminds her of her, if she is very honest. It is probably the reason why their tentative truth didn’t evolve in real friendship. They both know what the other is capable of. They know never to trust the other with enough personal intelligence. (But God Max knew the second she saw his long face what he needed. She doesn’t doubt he would too if she had the galls to go to him with her problems.) (Her liver might never recover.)

Daylight is pointing when she is ready to drop her list to Idelle. Most of the habitation should bear the brunt of the Hurricane if they are properly fortified. If not, they can still find refuge in the fort. Max would rather not, she doesn’t want people confined against their will in close proximity; she is afraid old grudge could take over. (She can’t wait! At least when the wind will be raging outside she will have no other aim but to rest in her dressing gown; taking care of her heart instead of her home. She wants nothing to interrupts what she hopes will be two weeks of debauchery.)

From Jack last report she counts two hundreds pirates who decided to join Nassau; it’s annoying how he drown the information under one anecdote or another. She probably knows the name of all the damned sailor too if she makes an effort. Most of them sure spend a bit of their time in her sheets. Back then and today still she only remembers what she can use for her own benefice. (She doesn’t know where Anne finds the patience to listen to him all this time or why Jack would hold back on such useless knowledge.) 

Anyway, the men mostly growled in frustration when they saw the closed brothel and most of their Captain visited her to know what the hell was going on. They were not always easy to appease but she learned how to sweet talk before they ever wished to be seamen. The one she didn’t manage found their answer at Silver’s door. 

Jack speculates there are at least two more crews that should join the three already landed. She needs to assess their stocks and make prevision for the next few days before their arrival. They are in no danger of starving but Max knows better than to trust her luck. She has better results when she works herself hard.

A discreet rapping on her door draws her attention. It’s one of her boy. Children are a rarity since the Spanish Armada tried to level the town (to be honest women are too) (it’s a problem for another day). Since he is breathless she gathers he ran all the way down from the fort.

“A flag on the skyline, Ma’am” he says. “Not the one you told me about.”

She breathes out in frustration. 

“Are you sure?”

“I asked a grown up. They say ‘it’s fucking Jennings’”

She appreciates the verbatim, she loves rude children (they are always the cleverest). However her humour doesn’t last. Henry Jennings is not a Captain to be trifled with. He normally stays up north or goes straight to the African coast without staying in Nassau long enough to make trouble. 

“Alert Captain Rackham” she orders the boy. “He needs to be on dock when Jennings disembarks”.

The boy nods and runs with a new wind in his young lungs. As she prepares for the worst to come, she wishes she could have the ability to stay so impervious to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised a summary of Chapter 9 : Thomas is healing slowly from a decade without proper rest, proper food and proper loving. He has retreat in himself and is starting to return to his consciousness slowly. Flint is being supportive, even though he is acting very different from what Thomas remembers. Silver is evasive, hidding most of the time from Thomas.


	11. Who can stop me tonight (I'm hard wired)

He has been chasing a book for Thomas. He deems his meager possessions (the one which survived the fire) insufficient to entertain them for two weeks. Nassau isn’t known for its literature but he hoped he could find something appropriate (or new). 

Unfortunately, he didn’t. 

New Providence is brimming with activity, preparation for the Hurricane season is every one’s priority. It’s a new sight for Flint who usually spent the two weeks with Miranda (or in Maroon Island last year). They would spend the time mostly silent or reading; lost in bittersweet memories. 

Miranda had always been his partner, but he never really let her in after they lost Thomas. She had to work herself a place in his life, to channel his rage, to assuage it enough he could still be a man, to reason him when he couldn’t see further than the horizon. (She took care of him way better than the other way around.) Flint has many regrets: his worst is that he couldn’t keep her alive long enough to know the joy of finding Thomas again. Now her home lies in ruin, all she ever touched on this island destroyed or tainted by flame. Flint is appalled to find how little of her survived (it is an apt metaphor for all that was lost; his lack of tether to the civilized world.)

He stopped dreaming of her (he doesn’t know if he should be grateful). Maybe it is because he found a partner to fill in the void she left. 

He finally returns to the Mansion, empty handed. He finds the main entrance busy with people; it would not be unusual (Silver receives any man or woman who wants something from him in his office), except they are all obviously trying to eavesdrop.

“If you value your life” he says with calm assurance “you will liberate the premises instantly.”

It is somewhat funny how they all look at him with a mix of terror and incredulity. They scattered quickly, none of them want to be the next victim of the famous Captain Flint. 

This is when he notices the voices. 

Flint enters and curses himself for not having his cutlass with him. He is been lenient with his weapons lately (he doesn’t want to wear them with Thomas so close). His first instinct is to barge into the room and protect Silver from whoever is verbally abusing him. He reins it as best as he can. He needs to find Thomas first, makes sure he is all right. 

His room is empty; it’s not unusual, they are in the middle of the day and Thomas doesn’t have the habit of lounging all day long in bed. No, they are in the habit of taking long stroll on the beach, re reading Flint’s damaged book collection slowly. 

(Flint doesn’t panick; Silver wouldn’t have allowed the negotiation to take place if he hadn’t been sure Thomas was safe.) (Probably.)

Of all the place, he finds him in the kitchen, holding his hand in a crooked parody of a claw under Adeline’s amused supervision. Thomas startles at Flint’s brutal entrance. He relaxes his stance when he recognises him. 

“You are back” he says, obviously relieved. The voices are clearer on the kitchen, even if Flint can’t discern what they are about. He recognises Rackham’s voice in answer. Silver is suspiciously absent from the argument.

“Are you hurt?” asks Flint. 

Thomas is still slow to answer questions, but he is less distracted. His complexion looks better and Flint hopes he is getting used to the food. Flint never really cared about what happened to his men when he had no use for them but he heard of the traveller sickness. More than one seamen after a long journey of hard crackers and salted pork would gorge themselves on Nassau’s abundant food as soon as they landed. Thomas would not be the first one to get sick with such a rich diet after getting used to plantation meals.

“No. Adeline brought me here when they start to… talk” adds Thomas uncertain if this is the right word for what is going on.

Flint has no idea how Adeline knew about it, as far as he is concerned she looks unbothered by the noise. She is obviously trying to keep Thomas focus otherwise engaged though. She taps on Thomas hands, reminds him of their previous occupation. Thomas winces but complies; he catches Flint curious expression. 

“Adeline is teaching me how to talk her language.”

Flint frowns; he never heard her talk anything but English. 

“I don’t care about the brown noser” shouts an unfortunately recognisable voice. “You and your redhead bitch can go fuck yourself.”

Flint curses. 

“I think they are escalating” mutters Thomas anxiously. His shoulders are tensed and almost at level with his ears. He looks like an odd turtle.

“Stay here” says Flint. It’s not exactly necessary; Thomas is in no state (or inclination) to come along.

Flint crosses the hallway and barges into the office. Silver is sitting at his desk, resting his weight on his elbows. He is studiously hiding his expressionby keeping his fingers entwines in front of his face. 

Jack Rackham is standing on his side, more obviously agitated. He is displeased to be interrupted, even more so by Flint. It is a bit unusual to see them side by side. But Flint suspicion on Silver’s guest was correct and it is no wonder there are making a united front against the man. 

This is not a pirate to be trifled with. He wishes he could have merit in recognising him but really, Captain Henry Jennings is quite distinctive. He is roughly Rackham’s size with short black hair and smart eyes; he is also covered with a scar shaped as an anchor, from his nose to his belly. It is remarkable for any man to survive an injury so severe (but Flint always found his open shirts ostentatious). 

“Jennings” greets Flint coldly.

“You” says the man with a very heavy accent (probably due to his split lips). “I would have thought that with you around, the limpets could be kept in check.” 

Flint doesn’t show his annoyance. Jennings was absent from the Rogers fiasco and even before that he only stayed occasionally on the island to replenish his ship and sell his goods to Eleanor. He doesn’t know Silver or Rackham; what he sees he takes at face value and thus makes the mistake of underestimating them. (Flint used to, a long time ago. But Flint learnt from his mistakes.) Silver himself is unperturbed by the insult, no doubt it’s not the first one since the beginning of their interview.

“It’s bad enough this so called King stopped all hunt in the Bahamas. I don’t care what ‘decision’ you think you made” says Jennings, “I will not impart with my cargo: not to your fraudulent government or to the lazy asses who inhabit this island.”

“They aren’t good to be sold” says Rackham with a frown.

It is to no avail. Even though he just gets in their talk Flint can see Jennings has no intention to keep civil. The likes of him only care about their bottom line. Flint doesn’t know how long their ‘talk’ lasted but Silver is obviously reaching the end of his patience. Flint doesn’t know what Rackham misunderstood Silver silence for, but it sure wasn’t out of apathy. Silver’s silences are more dangerous than his words. (Flint has made the experiment himself).

“Of course they are. For the right price.”

It makes Rackham flinch; Silver sombre face is turning murderous. Flint is starting to connect the dots. There is not a lot of topic that will make Silver so unhinged. 

“I will not allow Nassau to abide to slavery, never again.” states Silver. His voice is calm and deadly. 

“What are you going to do?” scoffs Jennings. “Send your dog?” he points at Flint derisively. 

Flint crowds the door, this is going to be good. It’s been a while since he witnessed Silver lose control. He is been so poised lately, keeping remote from any emotional reaction. This is unnatural. The anticipation makes funny things to Flint’s stomach. 

“Or are you going to send me one of your little cocksucker? Too keep me busy?”

Silver leap over the desk and hit Jennings smug smile with his crutch. Rackham curses and clearly wants to intervene; Flint stops him in motion. This needs to happen. 

Jennings doesn’t take long to retaliate once the surprise is gone. He uses his weight to propel himself against Silver, trying to unbalance him. He is brutal and doesn’t hesitate to use Silver disadvantage against him. Flint bares his teeth, not a smile but a more feral expression. They all make the mistake. Silver knows how to fight (Flint made sure of it), but he knows even better how to use people perception of him against them. Jennings takes a punch that would take weaker man out. 

“We don’t have time for this non-sense” grumbles Rackham. Flint disagrees. Jennings needs to understand who is in charge; they need to establish dominance. If they don’t, Jennings will challenge them on every term they set. 

Both the fighters are bloody and breathless, but already Flint knows Jennings is considering Silver with more caution.

“You bring weakness where there is strength” spits Jennings. “You don’t have what it takes to rule over pirates.”

It reminds Flint of another fight; Teach had been adamant prosperity had been the end of Nassau. 

“You believe them so stupid, to be led by like children” answers Silver with indignation. “Nassau isn’t an island of pirates, not anymore. It is a place for the free men and women. And I would rather burn it to the ground than see the likes of you taking over.”

They launch at each other throat, less in anger and more in rightfulness. Jennings is strong where Silver is fast. He manages to push him hard enough to fall on the floor; Silver doesn’t wait for the shock to settle; he uses his valid leg to unbalance the other man and use the momentum to get closer to his head. He kicks Jennings’s head again and again and again. He hits until Jennings grunt his surrender. 

They stand, Silver refuses help (always does). 

“Escort him out” orders Silver. “You have until tonight to liberate the slaves you hold as cargo.”

Jennings is about to protest but Rackham and Flint flank him and push him toward the door. He grunt in protest but follows them in silence. Fortunately the landing is empty of snoops. Flint has no doubt their heard every words on their exchange. The rumour of Jennings defeat will spread like a wildfire. It should be enough to keep him in line and force his hand. He is after all relying on Nassau hospitality for the next weeks. He could make a scene of course, but only a show of superior strenght would move the tide on his side, and the first taste of defeat should deter him for at least a few days. Flint hums to himself, watching the pirate leaves. This is a threat they do not need. 

When Jennings is nothing but a shadow beyond the streets Rackham turns to Flint with a tired sight.

“This could have gone better.”

“If you think you could have solved this mess without shedding blood you are sorely mistaking the kind of man Silver is.”

“I’m all for the free men and women of Nassau” pacifies Jack. “I’m just pointing out we don’t have the luxury of such declaration; we simply do not have the latitude.”

“It is because of this luxury that we’ve been able to keep the delicate balance so far” explains Flint.

He goes back inside. Even though he is not welcome, Rackham follows. 

“Jennings is one of the many challengers that will come to us. Are you planning to let Silver lose on all of them?”

“If it is what it takes. Not all Captains can be bought or reasoned with. You served under one of them, don’t act like this is news to you.”

“Don’t you talk about Charles Vane” warns Rackham. “You fucking hypocrite. You schemed against all of us so you could achieve your own ends. Now you retire with your winning prize and dare to tell me how to rule over this place like you fucking know better.” 

It is the trouble with the people who knows you; they do not hesitate to use truths against you. Rackham and Flint were never close enough to be friends (barely allies at the best time) but he has known him for almost ten years. They have a history they could never erase even if they wanted to. 

“You want to fault my strategy? Get in the fucking front line like the rest of us instead of hiding behind Silver’s skirt like his fucking wife.”

Flint glares at him with his darkest intention. (Rackham is fucking unmoved.)

They are interrupted by the discreet opening of the kitchen door. When it is assuaged the ruckus is definitely over, Thomas emerges. He looks at them with a strange, calculated intensity. (Shit he didn’t even thought about Thomas during the whole affair.) Flint realises he looks at them like he would a stranger. It hurts more than Rackham words ever could. He looks more curious than afraid but Flint can see the light tremor in his hand, the tension around his eyes. Thomas is on his guard.

“Weren’t you supposed to keep them from escalating?” he asks innocently.

Rackham snorts while Flint tries not to feel the embarrassment rises in his cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i rewrote this one at least 6 times !! What a pain. I hope it's not too drafty.  
> Plot is taking more and more space in this and I know where I'm going but writing in between chapters is haaaard.


	12. I am a man at war (And I am fighting for All of the broken people)

Silver is pouring over Max’s reports: about numbers he only half understands and questions he needs to answer. His headache is still ongoing after hours and his stump is still lancing since his nightmare. 

After Jennings visit he waited for tensed hours alone in his office until the slaves were finally released. Idelle provided the ledger in record time and he sent words inland to warn the farmers that more of their people would be on their way. Silver over watched the delicate process ; no one saw Jennings or his men after their confrontation but Silver doubts it is the last he will hear from him. The whole affair kept him out of the Mansion, to his own guilty relief. 

Flint has kept an overbearing eye on Thomas since his arrival on Nassau. It is not without reasons: a blind man would see how fragile Thomas is. (Silver can’t help but feels uncomfortable when he sees Flint possessive eyes turned on Thomas.) Silver can never look this fragile, he needs to look the part (even when he feels stretch to the extreme on the inside). He doesn’t run from Flint (he learnt from his mistake, a bit), but if he finds himself very busy when Thomas is around… well he has an island to rule after all. 

It’s not so uncommon.

Max is been judging him for days now. 

(It’s not his fault he feels so useless, so redundant when Thomas is here.)

Adeline knocks, returning him to the real world; when she comes in she gives him another letter. 

“Max?” he enunciates a bit discouraged. 

Adeline shows a close fist (Silver realized it was some kind of language when Idelle brought the girl to him, he literally doesn’t have the time to learn. The girl is clever enough to read his lips when he enunciates slowly and frankly he needs her more than he ever thought he would. Silver never tended to a house before, he can’t be thankful enough for the work Adeline is doing.). “From harbour” she says with harsh syllables. 

Silver frowns and absently thank her. She vanishes (sometimes Silver wonders if she is more at home in the Mansion than he is).

He doesn’t recognise the handwriting. And the paper doesn’t seem from Nassau’s facture. It doesn’t take long to guess who wrote to him. 

_To John Silver,_

_Once my daughter told me she thought you to be unprepared to carry the weight of the crown. If there is on piece of wisdom I shall impart with you it is that no one can be prepared. The weight will always be heavy._

_I made sacrifice long before you came to me and I shall do long after you left. It is the life I chose for myself so I could protect my people._

_To your fear I can only say this: you cannot predict the future nor can’t you erase the past. For all the ones who failed before you didn’t fail because they lack means, but because they lack conviction. Do not lose sight of your purpose John Silver._

_Then, and only then, will you be ready to make the necessary sacrifices or die trying._

_The Maroon Queen_

He hums distractedly. It is an answer that is both useful and yet not what he wished he could receive (he had the childish dream she would just give him a step to step instruction on how to keep Nassau under control). (Of course she couldn’t, even as powerful as she is, the Queen could not keep dissension from her island.) (It is the very reason why they are still alive.)

To not lose sight of his purpose.

It seems like a laughingly simple advice but Silver can barely think about his purpose with so much to do and so little time to do it. He is in a constant state of exhaustion with always more trouble arising by the day.

He closes his eyes is a rare reprieve; his mind naturally wanders to Flint. How did he find the energy and the strength to sacrifice everything to see his dream come true? He was ready to start a war against an empire. Here is a man with a sense of purpose. 

(Silver never met another man like him.) (He is trying! God is his witness, he is trying his best to make the dream come true.)

To not lose sight of his purpose. Their purpose was to free Nassau from England. Maybe his purpose is fulfilled, done. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to see what would happen after, let alone take care of it.

He hates the idea of Nassau being taken by the likes of Jennings: greedy, brutal men, ready to all extremes to gain just a little more. (God what a hypocrite he is.) He despises Jennings because the man doesn’t care about anyone but himself. He could captain a crew of five hundred, a thousand men and lead them to fill his own pockets but never theirs. Silver bets his Pirate code is empty, why would he part with coin of his own to repay the men who bled for him.

It’s an unpleasant thought. 

This is not what Nassau is supposed to represent: it is a Kingdom of Freedom (a place he could live in without rage), a Kingdom where men and women are their own master (a place she could call a safe haven).

Maybe he is been looking at it wrong. For all his talk about being the Quartermaster of the Island he tried to resolve their problem as a Captain would. He takes decision, consults advisors, he considers himself knowing what is best for the crew. However when a crew is dissatisfied with a situation they don’t call for the Captain, they write the damn rules. That is what the Pirate’s code is about. 

He abruptly stands, his hands are clammy, his heart is beating fast. Could it even work? Could they write a code for New Providence? A code all inhabitants would abide to? Who would endorse such an idea? They are pirates, they are used to it. But the townspeople? The Captains? The freemen? 

Who would be crazy enough to help him built such a feat? 

He needs to talk with Featherstone. He glances outside: the sky is grey and heavy with clouds. It’s a miracle the weather withholds so long. (None of them know if it is the sign of a short season or a terribly long one).

Idelle should know where he is at this time of the day. 

He storms out of the office and walks toward the tavern. The streets are empty except for a few running lads and gals carrying last minutes preparation. The tavern is quiet and almost entirely caulked. It is supposed to foster those who have no roof over them (it used to be the Church purpose he was told; but the roof collapsed three or four years ago and no Pastor was here to fund its repair.) Idelle is helping Featherstone nails plank to the windows. Helping is a generous word for what she does, namely flirting heavily with him while holding tools and passing them along with a lecherous gesture. 

Silver stops and considers them. They look happy and comfortable. Idelle is smiling with a familiar fond look in her eyes. He sees that smile in his dreams (on another face, in another time). 

He knows she is too far to reach; he took away her war (he naively thought she wouldn’t find another one to fight). He should have known she would never choose him over her people. He wanted her safe, by his side. He wanted her to be his Queen. He would have followed her to build a nation of their own. Madi didn’t want a Nation to be called her own, what she wants is so much more complicated. She wants for the whole word to accept her people as a free. (How was he to compete with this?) 

“Sir, are you alright? Did you need something?”

Featherstone is staring at him with just enough worry to douse Silver out of his gloom. He buries his feelings and plasters a mostly pleasant smile. He ignores the question, he is not fine (probably hasn’t been for some time now) but he needs to look the fucking part. For all of them, for Madi, for Flint. Maybe even for Thomas. 

“I need a quiet place so we could discuss” he says. “If your missus would allow it of course” he adds in jest. 

They share a glance and Idelle leads them to what probably was Eleanor former office. Yep, it is. Silver remembers being chained to the bench. (Not his most pleasant memory, it had been a very uncomfortable position.) 

Featherstone kisses her hand, he is so stupidly in love with her it’s a hilarious. Idelle doesn’t know what to do with it and accepts his romance with both delight and incomprehension. (Her vulnerability reminds him of Thomas, looking in awe at Flint every time they gravitate around each other.)

(Silver hates it.)

(Silver envies it.)

(Silver makes himself scarce so he doesn’t have to fucking witness it.)

Idelle finally leaves and they are alone. Featherstone finds two mostly clean glasses and serves them water. (It’s amusing how most of his crew was drunk on rum most of the day but they sip at water like it was a fine wine) (Featherstone is no exception). Silver can’t sits, he feels too jittery.

“Why do you think the other ruler of the island failed?” asks Silver. It is admittedly not his best beginning but he is still figuring his idea out as he talks. 

“Fail?” repeats Featherstone. “Sir” he says in an afterthought. Silver winces. All his life he wanted respect, now he has it and it is mostly underserving. 

“I asked a Queen” he says to mask his discomfort. “She said they lacked conviction.”

Featherstone spits his drink on the table and Silver agrees wholeheartedly. “It doesn’t sound right” he says. “No offense.”

“Fucking Woods Rogers didn’t lack conviction when he came at us; when he asked the Spanish Armada to burn Nassau” confirms Silver. “Jack Rackham didn’t lack conviction when he brought the Urca de Lima gold into Nassau. Eleanor Guthrie didn’t lack conviction when she built her Empire from her father’s ashes. Yet here we are trying to succeed where they all failed.”

“I don’t understand” attempts Featherstone. “We’ve been doing fine so far.”

“Yes but for how long?”

Silver starts to pace the room. He needs the space to think. He doesn’t need to convince Featherstone; he wants him to believe it is possible. 

“What would you change then?” All Featherstone deference vanished, replaced by a sharp mind. This is why Silver chose him over other Quartermasters he knows. 

“The people of New Providence” says Silver with conviction. “Eleanor gave them purpose, Rackham gave them prosperity, Rogers gave them respectability. They all rejected it at the end. How can we rule over a nation of indomitable spirits? ”

“They can be ruled” reasons Featherstone. “They still obey their Captains, they still follow orders at sea.”

Silver is still pacing, his shoulder hurts a little but he is too far in his head for this to be a hindrance. 

“Yes they do. Until the Captain cannot convince them he works for their best interest. So what do they follow if not Authority they recognise? What do they follow but Laws of their own? A Code they wrote.”

Featherstone frowns, thinking hard. “Most Codes are scams.”

“No they are not. Thousands of men abide to it at sea and they can accomplish more that we could dream of. We need a Code of our own. A code of New Providence.”

Featherstone straightens in his chair. “It’s never going to work.” He says but Silver knows he is intrigued. “Letting them decide of their own rules would be too chaotic. They would make Laws over anything.”

“Then why not let them? If all can agree, would it not be for the best?” It’s perfect in Silver’s opinion. He was always convinced to be smarter than his peers but life and the fucking Walrus taught him otherwise. He is good at talking sure, but each man has his own talent. M. DeGroot could talk for hours about wind charts and sails position. Muldoon was a poet until his very last breath. Joji could take them all for a ride at fencing. Dooley knew more about pistol and combustion that Silver ever dreamed of. They all had their own intelligence. What right does he have to call himself superior; to call himself their King? (The sheer arrogance of him.)

“This is insane” states Featherstone, but it is tainted with an incredulous awe. “Where would we even start?”

Silver doesn’t know (he is at the end of his rope). He is the one with the insane ideas, but other people are way more capable at perfecting them.

“I suppose we could see what is written in most Code” says Featherstone. “We have six, maybe seven quartermaster landed. We could have a quiet talk with them. Convince them to hand over a copy.”

“It would be more efficient to have their experience on the matter. They would know better than us the political aspect around each rule.”

Finally Silver sits and takes a sip of the lukewarm water. It does nothing to help his parched throat. He is thirsty and starved. When was the last time he ate?

“We would need Jennings too” muses Featherstone. “Excluding anyone would defeat the purpose.”

Silver winces. It was never going to be easy. 

“Make the necessary contact” he grants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people,
> 
> I have to publish a tad earlier than schedule since I won't be available this week end. 
> 
> Peace to you all. 
> 
> And wash your hands !


	13. I’m about to lose control ( and I think I like it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First smut ! And a very unexpected one at that!! I almost wrote it without a break.   
> I also discovered some very important problem in my narrative.... WHERE IS ALL THE KISSING ????

The pain isn’t new but it broke the fucking dam.

The rage she’s been keeping bottled inside her suddenly arises, a tempest she has experienced more than once. The commotion outside echoes her own battle. The wind is blowing against the caulked windows. She rides it, she lets the need for destruction overcome her. She breaks the table and the entire precious inventory flies through the window. She punches the walls and the floor in the hope it will quiet it. She wants to shout with the wind and let the storm take away her rage.

It wanes gradually; she is a wild beast in the cage of her own body, but even her rage tires.

When she is finally done with herself she lies among her destruction and she cannot cry. (The tears won’t come; they never do.) Her throat is tender and her breathe is rough.

It hurts more now, she probably reopened a few wounds (not that they are fresh anymore, but she was as brutal as her condition allowed her).

The silence is too much. She knows she frightens the girls (she cannot guaranty they are safe from her, one of them perished at the mere thought already.). 

She should leave the place and let them have their peace.

(She has nowhere else to go.) 

She doesn’t remember what started it. Was she trying to eat? To dress? Was she touching herself in a desperate need to not feel alone? Does it even matter? Whatever it was she couldn’t; because this is what defines her now: all the things she cannot do.

The door opens, long after the anger turned into bile. She feels hands against her wrist, gently checking on her. Another pair holds her shoulder and encourages her to stand. She doesn’t resist. She doesn’t hear any sound around her, everything is static. 

She waits, it leaves her if she waits long enough. Eventually. (She hates it so much. Before Woods Fucking Rogers she managed to put her life together, she found balance between her own wishes and Jack’s and Max’s ambitions.) (Now she is a wreck again.)

“Should we call for a medic?”

“No one will agree to come with this weather.”

Powerless is not a word she ever used on herself willingly. It reminds her too much of all the assholes who took advantage of her. How they saw her and thought of all they could take away from her. 

“She is going to be okay.”

“Of course she is.”

They make her lie down between them. Her skin is clammy and she is still overstretched on the inside. Without a word from her they give her space. She breathes in relief. 

“The first time we left England we fled to Brest” retells Jack slowly. “We embarked in La Daurade. We laughed at it, called it silly name during the fucking three month it took us to cross the ocean.” It’s an innocuous story. He likes telling it, adding different details she has no memory of. It soothes her grating nerves. “We landed in Saint Martin. Smoothest ride we ever made.”

“You called it a good omen” she grunts.

Jack laugh is no more than a whisper. She is coming back to herself. Max lets a relieved sigh out. They are terrible at taking care of her but she wouldn’t trade them for the world. 

“We arrived in winter, all the locals were freezing. We laughed at them. This was a fucking paradise compared to Bristol.”

She snorts. Of course, they emigrated in the Caribbean to run. Anne never thought she would renounce on the cold at the same time. Right now, with the caulked windows and the stuffy air in her lungs she regrets it. (No she doesn’t.)

“They brought us in New York then, to punish us from mocking them. We almost froze to death.”

She forgot most of this times, she supposes it’s because she was so very young (so very free). Her history is full of holes. She never really cared. Jack has always been here to make sense of it. 

“The first time I got drunk” he continues “the rum was so potent our doc told me I could have lost my eyes.” 

Jack’s voice is familiar. She knows him better than she knows herself: every inflexion of his voice, all expense of skin, all the lewd jokes and unshed tears. It used to upset her. After two decades of knowing each other, she had no identity: only his. (She was afraid he would leave her behind if she showed him teeth.) (But Jack didn’t leave.) (He watched her become her own person and accepted her.) He talks about little stories she has no memory of. 

She is suddenly overcome with the need to fuck him. Anne knows he dislikes talking about it (for all he loves talking about everything else). It’s not something they have indulged since Max. (Anne doubts she would be shocked.) (She probably did it as a whore too.) Maybe it is the fear she will never do it again because of her stupid hands, maybe it’s because he look calm and peaceful. Whatever the reason is, she is hungry for his body to yield for her. She wants to see his face slacken in pleasure and his voice get higher and higher. Jack loves it when she takes him. He hates loving it. (She had wished so many times to be born a man.)

Max recognises her mood swing and her caresses turn more intent. (Max is the first person who made her enjoy her own body). The heat on her skin changes, now she wants more of it. She hungers for contact and for their hands on her body. (For his mouth on her cunt.) Jack is fucking oblivious and keeps talking. Typical. (She is still learning to listen to her own desire. She wants Max so much, but her body is used to service Jack.)

(Or more accurately to be serviced by Jack.)

Max hands on her skin fuels her desire and soon the fire in her belly needs to be stroke more. She wants to feel his ass on her tight (maybe she can even have Max tongue in her too.) (God she can feel her cunt wet at the very idea, however impractical.) 

“Should I leave you two alone?” he finally asks.

“Don’t you dare” she growls. Max takes her robes off and her naked breast touches Anne’s skin. “I wanna fuck you.”

Jack intakes of breathe is enough for Max to stop. 

“I’m afraid it won’t be possible” stutters Jack, with a self-conscious smile. “You would need to be more dextrous.”

“I could help” suggests Max. 

“No” flats out refuses Jack. Anne wants to bite him in protest (she doesn’t feel entirely human yet). Now that her desire has awoken it’s asking for her attention. Jack is being stubborn and proud. She never could understand why he would find shame in what he wants. 

“Just fingers” 

“I said no”

Max is unbothered by the negotiation. “I could suck you” she adds. “You wouldn’t feel a thing.”

Anne smiles savagely. The trouble with Jack is… he would feel it. A lot. And resent it. He is not ready to show this face of him to Max yet. 

“Fine” she grants. “If I can’t mount your ass, I will mount your face.”

Jack winces at her crude words but comply. Max laughs at her lack of decorum and helps her to get rid of her clothes. Once Jack is comfortably lying down she straddle his face, trying to find a good way to support her weigh without straining her fucking hands. The wild and angry feeling in her belly is about to overrun her again (if she can’t even have this, what is the fucking point?) when Max’s hands circles her wrist and guides them backward. Max settles behind her and carries most of her weigh without crushing Jack’s ribcage under both their bodies. (Anne has no idea how she does it, but her skin on her back is deliciously warm and smooth).

It’s unnatural how she has no leverage but Jack’s hands take hold of her tights and his tongue starts to lick at her folds. She would accuse him of distracting her but his laps are sloppy and quick. He is ravenous for her (she wasn’t the only one who wanted this after all). 

The position is strange to her sense; she usually rides his mouth like she would his cock: hard and fast (almost too fast for him to enjoy it but she does). Now she feels at his mercy. 

“Let him have this” whispers Max. “See how he wants you. He is starving of you.” 

Anne doesn’t realise how much she resists her pleasure until she lets go.

The more he eats her, the bolder he gets. She grunts and sighs and moans; Max going along with her wave and giving her no choice but to be taken by Jack’s gluttony. She pushes Anne’s hips with her own (painting Jack with her own juice) letting him breathe once in a while.

“It’s okay” she croons. “You are doing great.”

Jack knows better than to focus on her clit, he rounds it, explore her sensitive skin with his tongue; keeping the heavy button for the end of his feast.

This is not what she wants (it is somehow better.) The fire grows, becomes a fucking blaze. 

“Come for me, love” says Max in the shell of her hear. Anne doesn’t think, she doesn’t resist, she just surrenders. She lets her body trust when her mind would not. She feels glorious.


	14. Well you see her when you fall asleep (But never to touch and never to keep)

The grove is grey, colours are inexistent. The ground on his feet smells like rot and he can feel maggots on his bare feet. It’s fucking Skeleton Island. He is walking through the endless jungles, two shapes at his back. He doesn’t dare to turn around; they might shot him if he does, sometimes they do, sometimes they shot themselves. He doesn’t know which one is worse.

He knows there is no destination (he made sure of it). There is only the walk. 

“Are you afraid to die?”

He used not to. He always imagined himself to be immortal; even beaten to death, even with a fucking hole in his shoulder, even with an impossible task to take care of. He was fuelled from the inside with a fire that could never be put out. 

Not on Skeleton Island. 

The heavy sound of boots intrigues him. He doesn’t know why yet.

“Are you afraid to live?”

He remembers the ache of staying awakes one day more. He remembers the taste of loss, the sweetness of Thomas skin, the smell of Miranda’s perfume. 

He stumbles on the path and recovers on a palm tree, its gigantic grey leaves are protecting him from the harsh sun (he is cold). He keeps walking (he doesn’t know where he is going). 

Still two shadows follow him, silent; they are ready to cut his throat. If he could just turn around to confront them. 

(He is tired of fighting.)

He wakes up alone. The sheets are too warm on his skin but he feels cold inside, a remnant of his dream. (He can’t call it nightmares, he does have nightmares and they are neither this tamed nor bloodless.)

The sun is not even high in the sky yet, the wind is still blowing, screaming against the world. It’s not late enough to be called morning. Silver is out of bed and he lets his body relax progressively. He unclenches his jaw and breathes out, prolonging the rare quiet his mind allows him. 

The days where he could wake up before Silver are long behind him. (To be fair he doesn’t remember sleeping this much as a Captain. Not that Silver ever slept as much as a Quartermaster.) 

He finally gets up and dresses with yesterday clothes. Even with Adeline doing laundry on the regular he is used to wearing clothes for weeks, a few days in a row won't kill him (even if the house is suspiciously silent in her absence). For her lack of speech, the girl compensates with a loud racket every time she is in the house. The first time it happened he had terrorized the poo girl by storming into the kitchen with both saber and pistol at the ready (he was still half asleep and convinced they were under attack). Silver found it hilarious (It happened once or twice on the Walrus, the crew was so tense then they would believe every manoeuvres was a signal for assault.), Idelle hadn’t been so pleased by the story. It’s around this time he got rid of most of his weapons. 

He scratches his head. His hair is growing back an inch at a time and itching like hell. He finds it amusing how Thomas can’t stop looking at it. He never knew James with short hair. It seems to be a personal affront of his taste. If it wasn’t so painfully tentative it would be hilarious. 

He is recovering, James knows. He also has no idea how to help him gets better: he makes sure the food he eats is bland enough, he gives him space during the night. He balances his overbearing supervision with a respectful distance. It is a source of unending frustration: no matter how much he tries he can’t ignore the dark circles under his eyes, his waist still too thin, the heavy silence between all his sentences or the recoil every time someone tries to touch him. 

Thomas health has improved, overall. It should be enough for him. But it is so dissonant with the vivid memory he has of him. Thomas has always been so… alive, so passionate.

He needs to start on his day, if only to try and redirect his gloomy thoughts. 

The house is dark so early in the morning; light hasn't breach the shutter yet. The air is already heavy and he has no doubt it will be another day in sweltering heat.

The kitchen is predictably empty, the fire logs at the ready and a loaf of bread wrapped up in a cloth. Flint starts his routine; he selects ripe fruits and slices the bread. He presses oranges and fits all his loot on a tray. 

Silver doesn’t share his worries (it’s a hell of an understatement actually, Silver is a secretive motherfucker.) He stays confined in his office days in, days out; working on some project while the world is hurling at them. More than once he had to be persuaded out of it to sleep or eat. (Did Flint entertain the possibility of spending more time with him while they were locked inside? Probably. Is he surprised Silver didn’t abide his little fantasy? Not really.)

Opening doors aren't the easiest task with a plater in hands but he manages to come in the fucking office while Silver is already working. He doesn't acknowledge Flint's presence, but it's not unusual. Flint drags a chair toward the desk and sits, turning his back on Silver's work. He doesn’t especially enjoy facing the closed windows but if Silver hasn't mention his project to him yet, then Flint won't press. Flint doesn't envy his focus, he knows by experience it induces a motherfucking headache, but it is a special kind of Hell to be interrupted when in this state.

Silver is writing furiously, mumbling to himself. After a while (who knows how long, there is no sun piercing through the shutters; the world is still standing, so there is that) he straightens his back and groans a profanity. 

"I didn't want to wake you" Silver says.

Flint only raises an eyebrow in mocking.

"It would not be the first time" he answers, blasé. 

For all his pretense of carefree attitude, Flint reads him like an open book. Silver is tired, anxious and most of all antsy. Flint lean to give him a kiss but Silver evades him.

"Thomas will be waiting for you" he says.

"I already told you to stop using Thomas as a distraction" frowns Flint. It’s unfair to Flint how he welcomed Silver in his mind but Silver never returned the curtesy. He has no intention on fighting this morning but he wishes he could shake Silver and bring him back to the man he was before. 

“You hate when he wakes up alone" reasons Silver not even trying to defend himself.

"I hate when I wake up alone too" warns Flint, breathing out his frustration. Flint would have never thought being at war with the world would be easier than knowing what was inside his mind. 

Silver looks just a bit chastise, not enough for Flint’s taste but what can he do? He would be the last of hypocrites to fault Silver to over exhaust himself working to achieve his goal. Flint is used to busy day but Silver seems continuously overworked. 

Flint presents him with a piece of fruit; if he needs to order Silver to take better care of himself he will. 

“Eat” he orders. Silver glances at him amused by his bout of authority. 

He takes the fruit and chews absentmindedly. He makes no effort to take another, lost in another thought. How change he is, from the selfish man who ignore others people pain if it meant winning a prize. It’s so unsettling to see how Flint groomed him to his needs. It is even more unsettling to see Silver answered by becoming a caring soul; ready to take all the people thrown overboard under his wings. Flint wishes Madi could be here, she always had a deeper insight into Silver’s mind. But Madi is at war, far away from their reach. 

_“Why didn’t you join her?”_ had asked Silver. _“I’m the one being cast aside. I’m making this easy.”_

“You still think I’m going to leave you behind” hazards Flint. 

“It seems to be the fate of all the people I love” admits absent mindedly Silver. “Don’t take it personally.”

Flint frowns and presents another piece of fruit to Silver mouth. He is determined not to quarrel (much). It doesn’t mean he can’t make his point to Silver’s stubborn reasoning. 

“Madi left because you gave her no other choice” he says. 

It seems to wake him up from his lethargy. Silver smile is disillusioned and wry.

“You were never going to convince her” explains Flint. “She cannot stop her fight; she has too much to lose.”

“I convinced you” deadpans Silver. “And let me tell you, I never thought you would be the most likely to give up.”

Flint snorts, for all his similitude with Madi (it hasn’t escape Flint’s notice) their motivation couldn’t be more different. 

“I wanted revenge. I wanted civilization to pay for what it did to me.”

“You still do” reasons Silver. 

Whatever they say, whatever Flint does, it’s always back to this moment on Skeleton Island. To this moment Silver convinced him to let it go. Flint was ready to fight, until his very last breath, for Thomas, for Miranda. And he would have lost something equally precious.

“No, I don’t. Because it would mean to lose you” he admits. Silver looks rattled by the confession. “Madi is different. Her love for you is not what defines her. If she stopped for what you wanted, she would have lost the very reason of her existence.”

“I just want her safe” states Silver with an edge in his voice. “Is it such a crime?”

“Where is she ever going to be safe?” asks Flint, it’s a painful question. “All her people enslaved and stripped of their barest rights. You say you will not allow slavery on Nassau but you reprove her fight?”

The tray lay forgotten on the side. Any illusion of comfort is lost to the cruel reality. Every inch between them is a fresh wound for Flint.

“You need to make peace with her departure.” The way he made peace with his revenge. Flint doesn’t regret his decision (he can’t). He meant what he said. Losing Silver would unmake him so deep did they entwine their life together. Once again he is the most hypocrites of men, he who lost Thomas once and could not forgive, he is asking the same today. But Silver is different from him. He will not make the same mistakes as he did.

(How did Miranda live so long with Thomas’ shadow and Flint’s anger? How could she rebuild herself so strong?)

(He is in desperate need of her guidance now.)

Silver covers his face with his hands, cursing against all the Gods known to him.

“How can I be so prepare to yours and so unsuspecting of hers?” he laments. 

They stay in silence, letting the chaos on the outside wash away their uncertainties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not kissing but this time on purpose !! John fucking Silver would you stop with all the angst already !?  
> (I'm aware I'm supposed to be in charge of the narrative) (key word is _supposed to_


	15. Nobody sails to the middle of the ocean (and calls it home)

Thomas is fed up. He barges into the office without knocking, without a second thought. It has to stop, now. He sees Long John Silver huddled behind his desk, any air of levity he could have disappears the moment he notices Thomas. 

“M. Hamilton” he welcomes gravely. “Is something the matter?”

Thomas suddenly understands why James insisted on the importance of Silver’s name. Hamilton is technically his name but he hates the distance it brings between them.

“You and I are going out for a walk” states Thomas with all the confidence of his previous (previous) life. 

“We are?” asks Silver, raising an eyebrow the exact same way James does when he is intrigued. (Does the man even realise he is mimicking James?)

Thomas waits for him to understand he won’t be moved. Silver arranges his paperwork in an organised mess and reaches for his crutch. Thomas keeps his face straight but silently curses himself. He is so angry against the man he forgot about the leg. James says if anything, losing a leg made Silver more dangerous. Thomas is willing to believe him.

“Where to?”

“It’s you island.”

Silver sights, slowly, and leads the way. Their destination doesn’t matter to Thomas, he just needs to leave this curse house and this curse office. Thomas won’t suffer to be interrupted. 

They don’t lock the door (what a peculiar place, full of thieves but without lock, no guards or militia, barely a soldier). His surprise must show because Silver glances at him with a knowing (infuriating) smile.

“No treasure behind an open door” he says. 

They walk in silence in Nassau’s chaotic streets and every man and woman looks at them (not them, only Silver). They all follow him with their eyes, hungry for something Thomas can’t phantom. 

The worst of the hurricane season has passed and left the island on a precarious edge. Not only because of the will of Mother Nature. Jennings has started his personal campaign to upset the balance Silver has managed to maintain so far. 

He is claiming in every corner of the Island Long John Silver is weak, that Nassau needs a stronger leader. Strange incident were reported on the edge of Nassau: theft, skirmishes, fire pegged on the freemen and women inland.

Silver doesn’t seem to worry about his claim, nor about the low key unrest in the city. Thomas is not the experienced politician he one was but he knows ignoring this problem won’t make it disappear.

Instead of reassuring the townspeople they met he walks unaffected toward a destination only he knows (and Thomas savour the irony of his own situation, he was the one who didn’t care about where they go as long as it would be a different place than the one they were previously). 

They exit the city and start to trail in the sand. Thomas is used to hard labour, is body was honed by seven years in Savannah but the few weeks of inactivity he went through since he arrived in Nassau (and the still fragile state of his stomach) sapped his strength. He doesn’t understand how Silver who stays seated all day long can be so resilient in the heat and the briskly walk. 

They climb a hill and Thomas is about to ask for a reprieve. Except Silver suddenly sags on the sand.

“Shit” he curses, he is breathless and sweaty (and probably as tired as Thomas). “I forgot how far it was.”

Thomas takes a minute to appreciate the view; the landscape is beautiful: the sun is bathing the land and the sea, the city a distant murmur. The coast is untouched by the previous days of tempest. All seems unnaturally perfect.

“Why here?” asks Thomas.

“He brought me here once or twice” answers Silver, still recovering. “It seemed appropriate.”

There is no question about who is he. This is obviously James. Thomas can intuit there is more behind the simple statement. He wonders if he will be part of this one day.

(This is exactly the reason why they need to talk.)

“You are very different from whom I thought you were” starts Thomas. 

“What did you thought I was?” asks Silver intrigued.

Thomas sits in front of him and regrets almost instantly, the sand is sticky and burning against his clammy skin. The sun hasn’t even been high in the sky for long. Of all the places in this curse Island why one would chose a spot without any shade?

Thomas takes his time to answer. He is getting better at gathering his thoughts, but what he wants to do now is too important not to consider every words. 

“There are so many stories about you” says Thomas “It’s difficult to sort the truth from the lies. The first day we met I thought you a monster that ripped me from my life to cast me into another, a cruel man without a second thought for the life around you. But then, you gave James back to me, even if it meant losing him and it is the most humane anyone has acted for me. So I do not know. ”

Thomas predicted the surprise; he has planned for it (counted on it even). What he doesn’t predict is the acceptance, the finality, the resignation.

“You want me to release him.” 

Thomas tuts “This is exactly the problem. You expect me to take him away from you.”

From the incredulous face on Silver’s face, this is exactly what he has expected. Jesus! This is why he let Miranda take care of the negotiation back in London. 

(Her tentative memory hurts, he wants to honour her but thinking about her is painful.)

“You see me as your rival. I have no wish to remove you from James’ life. It would achieve nothing.”

“You would have him” says Silver absently. 

Lord give him strength, this is a stubborn man.

“No I would not,” explains Thomas as plainly as he can “There is no having him if he doesn’t have you.”

Silver stares at him, looking for dishonesty. Thomas gives him no reason to believe otherwise. He nods, almost to himself. There is a sense of wonder in Silver’s expression as he takes in the scenery, probably avoiding Thomas judgement.

“You offer terms I ask none.”

Thomas sights at the formality, but he sees the vulnerability behind it. This is a man who has to pretend strength in front of his people and who could lose everything if he breathed wrong. (Who probably did already.)

“I need to know where we stand” says Thomas. “We have enough in common to be allies, but it is my opinion we could be so much more as friends.”

Thomas sees how James looks at him with faith in his eyes (maybe it reminds him a bit of how James used to look at him when they built their plan for Nassau), he sees how the town people, the men who called themselves pirates waits for his every word to direct them. John Silver is capable of inspiring this whole island it seems. Maybe he needs to be inspired himself sometimes.

“I don’t know how” he finally admits. 

“Well you could start by not fleeing when I enter the same room as you. It’s been driving James crazy. Apparently you’ve been acting very out of character.”

Thomas can’t hear what he mumbles about James, but he probably can guess. 

“He is so different with you” admits Thomas. “More real.”

He had no other choice but to spy on them. He feels so superfluous when they are together; he is aware of the ten years separating James and him. There is a wide gap between them, where they became different men. (Sometimes he wonders if their love is going to be enough to bridge it.)

Silver sights (it sounds a lot like surrender) “This is why I leave” he confesses “I don’t have my place with him when you are here.”

Thomas closes his eyes in frustration. Their insecurities are born from the same place it seems.

“We have to learn to live with each other.”

Silver stands, it seems to be born from the will to move his legs more than to walk out from this. 

“You have questions. I can’t answer all of them, but I will try” he says.

“Why did you bring me here?” asks Thomas. It seems inconsequent enough for a start.

Silver winces and looks very uncomfortable, which means Thomas was very wrong about it.

“It’s a good place to get rid of a body.” 

“You thought I was going to kill you?”

Silver tries to hide his embarrassment. “It seemed a lot more reasonable an hour ago than … what you suggested. This place is one of the only places where I could agree to die.”

It is a strange concept: Death waiting for you to agree with It. Long John Silver considers his words carefully. 

“I have to play the part” he says “I can’t show my doubts or my fears; that is what they need. This is the reason we are not in a full war between factions right now. But here, there is no shadow I can hide behind, no lie I can tell myself. This is a place where I can be true. It’s the first place I could not hide anymore.”

“You said James brought you here.”

“He did. This is the place where he showed me how to kill him” Silver fidgets with his crutch. “As I said, it seemed appropriate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY !! You guys have no idea how many chapters I add before this one so it wouldn't feel too rush. And yet I still feel it's not enough of a slow burn haha 
> 
> I love this one (it's one of my favorite) hope you will enjoy as much as I do.


	16. Were you ever a dreamer? (Ever imagine heart open and free)

Idelle savours the fresh air. It’s the first reprieve since the beginning of summer. Like all the people who were born out of the Bahamas; summer is her least favourite season. 

Tonight is a bit special, Nassau as a whole decided it was time for a celebration: the lack of resources drastically reduced the daily binging. They decided the end of the first hurricane is worth a good drink. It's been a while since she is been pleasantly drunk herself. Whoever organised the festivities called on musicians from all the landed crews and announced a big show in the dark of the night. 

At first it looks like all Nassau came, she enjoys a good pint with her girls, watching them mingles with each other. (She surprises herself looking for Augustus.) She laughs, she drinks, and she talks until a pleasant buzz slow her down (she doesn't want to be impaired, just happy). 

She feels a bit horny (nothing pressing); one of the upside of living the whoring life is she is able to scratch that itch often enough, she has a big appetite sue her. Augustus is a decent fuck, her exclusivity is quite an accident but for now she is satisfied with it. She still finds amusing and intriguing how Augustus fancies himself in love with her (calling her sweet names and insisting on making her come every time) (she isn't bored on being this pampered yet). 

Hours later, Adeline joins them. She returned to Silver’s house with the end of the Hurricanes. The girls cheers for her and Isabella (one of her smartest ward and Adeline good friend) starts an animated conversation with her. She can only understand bits of it, they are so fast. Adeline looks healthy and happy at last. Idelle lets them have their fun and allows herself to relax. 

Adeline is one of her youngest; she said she is sixteen when she arrived in Nassau but Idelle knows better (for all her issues with her, Idelle is glad Adeline arrived after Max became the Madam, their previous owner didn't care how old you were as long as you had a cunt that could be fuck). Max had looked at her and assigned her to manual tasks (they were in a dire need of someone to clean the sheets on a more regular basis). It had proved to be a long term decision. Her disability slowed their communication a lot, but fortunately Adeline already knew how to read lips and she learnt how to write on Celeste supervision. Max had insisted they all learn. 

Max insisted on a lot of new policies when she became Madam. The political purpose she instilled sharpened their natural wit and gave them a bargaining power. It’s an unending source of frustration for Idelle that when Max separated from the whores she became their oppressor instead of encouraging them to be more. To this day, Max is still one of the most ferocious opponents to the Brothel’s closure.

She feels the discreet tap on her arm to redirect her thoughts to the girls. Adeline is waiting for her to pay attention. 

“They come tonight” she enunciates harshly. 

Idelle mimed a surprised face. Working out meaning out of context was an important part of her job (no surprise they were so good with secret languages).

_How is work?_ she asks with a small gesture for question

Adeline shrugs, chasing an invisible fly. _Easy._ She shows a crown on her hair and taps with two prancing fingers on the table. _King is out a lot._

Idelle nods. She is keeping an eye on Silver, first to insure Adeline safety among the pirates house and second to make sure he doesn’t work himself to an early grave. She needs him to be stable enough to enforce their decision. Unfortunately she hasn’t enough power of her own yet.

She signs a pistol and a book with a question mark. _What about Flint and Hamilton?_

Adeline makes a very annoyed face, rolls her eyes and moves her hand in a duck’s beak, opening and closing repeatedly. _So much talking._

It makes Idelle laughs. Who haven’t heard of Flint torrid affair with both their King and this lordly stranger brought on Silver’s order? It’s been milling the gossip for weeks now and yet, Adeline has yet to find evidence they are more than brothers. They kiss sometimes (chastely). If people knew they would be very disappointed. No one wants to hear about a platonic scandal. What was the point?

(Idelle doesn’t get it. Don’t they want to fuck? She would! They are all gorgeous in their own way and imagining them all around her makes her more than a little wet.) (But then everything makes her more than a little wet.)

She taps her right ear. _Do you know what they talk about?_

“Too fast” sights Adeline with disappointment. 

It’s probably the reason why Silver keeps Adeline in his employ; it is very difficult for her to feed on the gossip. At the very beginning, Idelle asked Adeline if she minded; she shrugged and answered that Silver didn’t thought her stupid, that it was enough for her to stay. (Despite the incident with Flint barging in the kitchen with all his weapons at the ready and Silver’s savage destruction of his office when Hamilton arrived.) 

Adeline made the book sign again and the sign for their language. _Hamilton is learning._

“Is he?” asks Camille out loud in surprise. Of course Adeline isn’t turned toward her and continues. She makes an explosion close her ears and protects her face. _He doesn’t like loud noise._

Camille interrupts her with a subtle caress on the neck (Idelle might need to tell her she is not as subtle as she thinks). She signs a lot more fluidly than Idelle and asks more questions about Hamilton. 

“He is smart” she repeats to Idelle’s benefice. “Learn fast. Might be as good as Camille next season if he keeps on.”

“Do you know why he is learning?” asks Idelle, and waits for Camille to translate the question. Adeline glances at Idelle and shrugs. 

“Be careful” warns Idelle. Silver might be on their side right now but she knows better than to trust a man’s stability. (Okay, she might be a little hypocrite about that. Except keeping Augustus out of this argument doesn’t jeopardize their future.)

Idelle let the discussion deviate from her interest. She doesn’t want to use the girls who entrusted her with their safety. (Not like Max did.)

She stands and mingles with the crowd. She wants to move. She finds Esther and Isabella dancing close to the fire and joins them. They follows the rhythm and shouts and claps her hands and laughs. She lets stranger gropes her (she is so used to it she barely notice to be honest) but elbows them in the guts when they gets too irritating. (It fuels the lust in her cunt, she hasn’t eaten since the morning and Augustus is nowhere to be found since the beginning of the party.)

She spots Silver walking furiously toward a small group of people, separating them. Flint is close on his heal keeping any from second guessing Silver’s orders. He is also very intent on striking anyone who would look at Hamilton the wrong way. It’s a lot of posturing. 

The sliver of space they create shows her a well-known figure fighting for her life. She runs toward them and finds Berthine, clothes reaped, trying to hide her naked body. Idelle pushes through the curious and sides with her; she bares her teeth in threat against the man who dared to touch one of her girl.

“What do you think you are doing?” asks Silver. 

“She is been asking for it.”

“You don’t get what you don’t pay for” spits Berthine. 

Idelle tries to contain her deception. Berthine is just a year older than her but she is been a whore for much younger. She has no interest in leading a new life. 

“How I am supposed to pay when we aren’t allowed to hunt?” shouts the man.

“The wind is good and we are stuck here” shouts an anonymous in the crowd. The shouting attracts more of them. Silver keeps his thoughts for himself, he listens to them. Idelle knows from Rackham regular grumbling that they haven’t convinced the Captains to accept the new deal with the sails company. 

“You refused our surrender to Rogers” says another “call us coward for accepting England’s pardon.”

Idelle holds her breathe. She isn’t the only one, Flint looks ready to pass out. They are all waiting for Silver to make the situation right. After all his promises they waited again and again for something to happen. 

(Did she put her hopes in the wrong man?)

(They are all so tired of fighting. Nassau has been through so much. They just want their future to be certain. At least piracy gave them that.)

(Nothing is ever certain on Nassau.)

“Do you all share his opinion?” asks Silver. He looks around, tries to share a look with the entire crowd it seems. No one dares to answer but no one protest.

“When I first came to Nassau I was no one” retells Silver. “I had nothing to call my own. I had no ambition and no future. Then I met a pirate. I think you all know the story.”

They collectively watch Flint (do they see how transcend he is by Silver’s admission? She wonders). 

“But more than the man, I met his crew. Men who came from all over the world, couldn’t find two who was born on the same city.”

He takes a minute to himself, to remember. Idelle knows the story of Silver and Flint. She was told a hundred version of it. As she crouches on her friend, protected by this man, she sees the loss he carries. 

“They fought together, they bled together. They fuck and drank and slept as brothers. None would have thought himself above the other.”

“The Captain does” protests someone from the assembly.

“Is he?” questions Silver easily. “I saw the terrible Captain Flint shakes in front of his men as much as I saw them afraid of him. A crew allows a Captain to lead them at the only condition they can lead the Captain.”

Flint growls in protestation to be used in such an example. Idelle has trouble believing the testimony but it seems his reluctance is proof for more than one seamen.

“I learnt a valuable lesson from this days. You cannot judge a man’s soul by the riches he acquires not by the people he holds in his power. Always you will find one stronger or smarter. But the humanity he shows his brothers or his enemies; this you can judge. This you can trust until the edge of the world. This is what it means to be a freefolk of Nassau.”

No one interrupts him. 

“What you did tonight, you didn’t just impose on her. You violated the sacred trust between the bothers and sisters of Nassau.”

Against all odds the perpetrator pales. 

“I’m sorry” he says.

“It’s not me you ill-treated, it’s not my trust you have lost” answers Silver. “Do not apologise to me.”

The man turns toward them and apologises again. Silver doesn’t let it satisfy him, he asks Berthine if she is appeased with the outcome. Idelle wishes he hadn’t asked. The bitterness of her world cannot be redeemed with pretty words. (But never before did anyone defend a whore’s dignity).

Berthine nods.

“Then Nassau will live another day.”

It is stupid, how he makes them believe. She can hear voices coming from the entire crowd repeating, amplifying his words. She hears how the words ‘sacred’, ‘brothers’ and ‘sisters’ that meant nothing before this very moment are now whispered with reverence. 

Idelle helps Berthine to stand. Hamilton (who is been silent during the event) extends his coat while Flint grumbles about Silver’s liberty with his speech.

“It’s a dangerous gamble” he c omments, not loud enough to be heard by the dispersing crowd. (She is still close enough; she wants to be the witness of their lies. She cannot trust him.)

“You know I meant every word” answers Silver. “None of them would have settled for anything but the truth. It would be stupid to lie.”

“It never stopped you before” says Flint astonished. (She can barely breathe from her own surprise.)

Silver contemplates the busy streets, the rumours spreading already. He glances at her and lingers on Hamilton.

“Well” he says “I’m looking at a new angle.”


	17. And the sun can't stop us now (Watchin' it come true, it's takin' over you)

She hears the whispers first. Words uttered with reverence, secrets told quick as the wind. Then her boy come to her and retell her the story. 

She sights in annoyance (and a little in relief too). Silver has reversed the tide in his favor (again), in the most convolute way (again). 

(Did he ever plan for this?)

She sees him as he sits apart from the town people, flanked by his angry shadow; on his other side M. Hamilton follows on a more sedate pace. His fragility is charming she supposes. (She never imagined it would be Flint’s preference though). 

They are not so far she can’t hear them but the hubbub is loud enough she need to focus. The play hasn’t started yet; she sees no benefit in exhausting herself trying to her chitchat. This is why she employs youngsters to sit closer to important people after all, to be sure she can enjoy her night and still not miss a piece of useful gossip. 

Anne and Jack are waiting for the play to begin, bored out of their mind. Max admires the reflection of the night lights on Anne’s red hair. They look like copper wire braided by Max just an hour before. She enjoyed the beginning of her night very much. 

She would have stayed in her bed with her lover if she could, but the partial resumption of Nassau activity since the end of the Hurricane brought to light new political tensions. She financed the festival and the play to appease the spirits (and to assess the public reaction to some of her script suggestion.)

In her experience, all plays performed by pirates are mediocre. They have way too much drama and not enough built tension. (What is the point of spending an hour of her time seeing people get killed without a good plot twist?) The actors (if you can call so generously) either shout or whisper their lines, when they are lucky enough to know it. 

It is part of the charm. The people of New Providence are easy to entertain (most of them never saw a better production). 

She watches as the last preparations are made (more lamp lit, more food spread on the table, enough beer to keep people cheerful but not too much). (She will have to worry about the state of her stocks later.)

She can’t wait for the first crew to leave Nassau and bring back the resources they sorely need.

Jack has been on the verge of a breakdown since the end of their solitary confinement. He has reunited the Captains for a first meeting on how to negotiate the term of employment for the Black Sails Company. It’s a miracle in itself how much effort he had to deploy just to gather them together. 

Captains act like children; always boasting about their last achievement without listening to the other; trying to prove to the others they are the best of them. More than once Jack had moaned against the simpler time when he could just kill the people who annoyed him. Anne finds the display funny, reminding him he has spent more time arguing than fighting since the beginning of their professional orientation.   
(It’s a story Max wants to know more about. How on Earth two children became pirates.)

Finally, after what feels like a small eternity, the master of ceremony shows his face; he is instantly cheered by the crowd.

“The King George of England brought to Trial the Free Pirates of Nassau” he cries out. 

A man, face paint white with floor, wearing a ridiculous curly wig and an even more ridiculous crown stands on a barrel. Every one boos him instantly. 

“Let the First Perpetrator against the Crown of the Sacred Empire of England enters.”

A man with a gaudy calico walks in, the pocket of his trouser jingling with money. He looks regal (almost as much as the actual king) and asks with an exaggerated high voice who dares disturb his party. “I was very happily being buggered by my wives.”

Anne snorts. “They captured your essence” she jests at Jack. 

“Shut up” pouts Jack, pushing her from her seat.

“What ? What kind of man are you?”

Jack stands, incapable of letting the slight on his pride go uncommented.

“The kind of man who has twice as much action than the rest of you.” 

The crowd roars with laughter. Anne raises her eyes to heaven but her smile is fond. The actor don’t let the interruption deter him, he plays with the crowd by throwing lewd remarks and slapping his backside.

“Silence in the Court!” interrupts the King. “You are, Jack Rakham, accused of many crimes.”

“Captain Jack Rackham” corrects Mock!Jack. 

“Stealing the Crown’s gold” continues the King.

Mock!Jack looks offended.

“Objection! I stole Spain’s gold. If you can call it stealing; I simply went on a stroll on the beach. Here it was, waiting for me. I simply picked it up.”

“Then you shall give it to me.”

“I can’t! I gave it all to the good pirates of Nassau!”

Jack snorts on her side. “It’s a generous interpretation.”

“But a useful reminder” comments Max. 

He turns toward her while his counterpart escape the stage, fake golden coin falling from his pocket to the public amusement. She can guess his suspicion, she is been living with it this they returned from Philadelphia. 

“I only asked them to evoke the gold” she says defensively. 

The crowd quiets down while the next actor walks on stage. They focus on the new arrival: his hair is ridiculously red (what did they dye it with?) and he is holding a sword from his wrong hand (to better show the public Max assumes but it just looks terribly amateurish).

“Who are you? Nasty Bastard, I would hang you just for the crime of blinding me! Cover your head or suffer the consequences”

Max has a bad feeling about it.

“The only thing I shall cover my head with is the blood of my enemy!” answers the actor. “And I came to you to make a new hat out of your scalp.”

Most of the crowd is uncertain about who is supposed to be the new pirate. 

“I am Captain Flint of the Walrus” says the actor embarrassed by the lack of recognition. 

There is a pregnant silence until suddenly Silver burst of laugher fills it. 

“You look like a bloody tomato” giggles Silver. 

“It’s going to be bloody something” pouts Flint. 

It seems to lighten the mood and the play continues.

“How dare you? Guards!” shouts the King Georges. “I have a thousand soldiers to defend my royal majesty.”

“And I have a thousand men with me, all worth ten of yours!”

“Ha! Thieves and murderers. Not a decent man to be found in the Holy Kingdom of England. What an army indeed. ”

The King is predictably booed. 

“Hang them! Hang them all!”

People throw what they find at him. It’s kind of hectic: rocks, glasses, pieces of wood are flying toward the stage. The poor King is hit on the tight and falling from the barrel he stands on.

Mock!Flint raises his sword in a fighting stance and proclaims his victory.

“No more trials” roars the King “no more Justice, hang them all!”

Max has to recognise the man bravery (he might even be a true Man of Theatre) for a few of the pirates are ready to start a fight. Both actors flee the stage and they wait for the racket to calm down.

“Interesting choices” sneers Jack. “I wondered what they had planned on the first place.”

“Probably for the better” notices Anne while glancing at Silver and Flint. Silver is still giggling; Flint looks very unhappy with the show. M. Hamilton looks puzzled. It’s still too loud for Max to hear them talking to each other. (It might not be very interesting but old habits die hard.)

To pacify their public the next scene is between three sailors and a judge. It’s a more classical trial where the men are irreverent and the judge is a dull sticker to the rules. The crowd gets quieter, still restless but at least not ready to draw blood.

The men are about to get acquitted (as the tradition bind) when the King makes an unexpected come back. “Hang them all” he says and three other men drop from nowhere with hanging rope. Once again people are standing, ready to fight. Max herself is considering taking action (it’s her inn after all). But a new character makes an entrance. 

It’s grotesque how they bind him to make him one-legged. The crutch is slowing his approach but silence follows him. (Max feels the unnatural tension in the room.) (Of course they would portrait Silver, she explicitly requested it.)

“You would kill my men” he says. (She feels the cold shivers in her stomach.) (No one is saying a word, no one is uttering a cheer or a grunt.)

“All of them” says King Georges solemn. “Until the very last one.”

“Let us make a deal. From one King to another. I do not care if they are guilty or if they are not. Give me their burdens, give me their blames. I’ll shoulder the load and I’ll swallow the shame. And so…”

The actor hesitates. Everyone is listening carefully.

“Nassau will live another day” whispers someone offstage.

“Nassau will live another day” repeats Mock!Silver.

“So be it” says solemnly King Georges. “Let us kill the King of Pirates.”

They prepare a mock gallows and surrounded by an almost religious silence, Death appears. She is masked as always, bared and skin beautifully black. The strange structure on her head always slightly impressed Max, if she could imagine Death (the real one) she thinks Her eyes would be the last thing she would want to see. 

Death as She comes, doesn’t stop to kill Silver but she catches King Georges by the throat. 

“You would order the death of my loyal emissary?” she asks. They whiten her teeth and it is the only part of her face the public can see. She is smiling fiercely. 

King Georges pleads for his life but ultimately She isn’t moved. She gives him the Kiss of Death and the actor fell on the ground. Still; no one is making a noise. 

Someone hits the ground twice. 

Death leaves the stage and no one come to replace her. The townspeople, the pirates, the whores, all the public waits patiently for something to happen. 

Silver (the real one) stands and every looks turns toward him.

“Enough speeches for one evening” he claims.

Suddenly the bubble of silence burst and every last uncultured swindler as an opinion about the play they want to share. Some applauds, some asks for food and rum. 

Max is unsettled; she doesn’t like it.

“Is it always so… intense?” she hears Mr Hamilton asking. Does he imagine pirates to be romantic in nature? Attracted to poetry and political performance? No, this was an anomaly.

She doesn’t need to watch Silver to know he is wincing. Even to her, who supports their King with all the power at her disposal, this was unsubtle as fuck. Whoever wrote this wanted to make clear they would not tolerate any rebellion against Silver’s claim as King. She glances at the three men. The English lord is sitting straight as an arrow while the two pirates are slouching in each other space. She can see Silver arms around Flint’s shoulder and Flint hand behind M. Hamilton chair. It looks a bit tense between them; not yet familiar with each other’s closeness. (Were Jack, Anne and her so obvious at the time? Or did they fell into their relationship more easily?)

“God no” scoffs Flint. 

“It almost made me regret London” reflects M. Hamilton. “The quote was a nice touch.”

Flint smiles and tries to hide it in M. Hamilton’s hair. The man stands a little bit straighter (if possible) and Flint relents, sobering his countenance. (He will get used to the lack of formality soon enough, sympathize Max. In the meantime she enjoys watching Flint dances around his lovers. It is a rare sight to see the terrible, bloodlust Captain of the Walrus balances his attention fairly.)

“Don’t you dare” warns Silver. “I remember what your hair looked like at sea.”

“They were never that red” states Flint.

M. Hamilton laughs and yawns very suddenly (he almost topple from his chair in surprise). She feels Anne’s hand carefully laying down of her tight. It makes her focus on her own lover. Jack is talking with another patron and Anne is watching him with a specific intent. 

“Hungry?” she asks innocently. 

“Starving” 

Well. Who is she to deny Anne’s craving?


	18. Oh, if the sky comes falling down For you (there's nothing in this world I wouldn't do)

Captain Morgan is going to murder his Quartermaster. If he finds him. Which is exactly the reason why he is going to murder him; he can’t find him anywhere.

He asked around, even rounded the most popular places of Nassau hoping he would find him. 

His last resort is to drink his fury and hope it will pass when M. Weasle deigns to move from the burrow he is hiding in. All the negotiation he is attending is giving him headaches and the crew’s moral is lower than Captain Morgan is comfortable with. 

He finds Captain Rackham already deep in a cup of water. Morgan doesn’t envy him. He is been fighting tooth and nail against to convince the Second Captain's Council of Nassau to start an entrepreneurship as a shipping company. 

“If you are here to petition me, please don’t” moans Rackham when he sees him. “I’ve had enough on my plate for today.”

Morgan winces in sympathy. Rackham is doing a fine job on his own; unfortunately he has a lot of hotheads in front of him (especially since Jennings joined the Council). Morgan has been more than happy to defend him, until they discussed about the Guthrie debt. 

This is a sensitive matter that slowed down considerably their schedule. 

“No, I’m looking for M. Weasel, who seems to have taken his leave without informing me” groans Morgan. Rackham offers him a seat at his table with a derisive snort.

“We are in a shortage of Quartermaster” he reflects.

It shouldn’t be a surprise to Morgan that Rackham knows his Quartermaster by name; he became after all a Captain very recently considering all the recent events. 

“You are the third Captain looking for his officer in as many days” muses Rackham.

“Should we worry?”

Rackham looks at him curiously. “I understand they come back eventually, unbothered by the agitation of their absence.”

Morgan nods pensively. This could be nothing, and if they are all lucky there won’t be a fight among the crew during M. Weasel’s absence and the weird status quo will remains unbroken. 

“Any news from Captain Jennings?” he asks.

They all heard of the incident with Captain Jennings and the surrender of his cargo, since that moment the situation is been tensed in the island. The little festival thrown to celebrate the end of the Hurricane’s worst was a nice touch to help alleviate some of the tension (even if it plummeted their stock of alcohol). Morgan knows it’s not going to be enough though. 

“Plotting our demise most certainly” growls Rackham. 

With an enemy like Jennings, the young kingdom of Nassau could not survive another month. For now Long John Silver is popular and respected. Most of the pirates hold on the ideal of freedom he sold. Morgan doesn’t forget that not six months ago, they were fervent citizen of the English Empire. A year and a half before that they were under Eleanor Guthrie rule; in between, Rackham himself was the one in charge. 

Every man and woman in this island is aware of the instability.

“I wonder what our good King will do to solve this mess.”

Morgan takes a sip of water and considers Rackham words. He hears no mockery in them, just genuine curiosity. 

“He’ll find a way.” The certainty is misplaced; Morgan doesn’t know where he found the faith. If he reasons rationally, nothing indicates Long John Silver will solve all their problems. But it is here (the same as when he sailed with him to free his wife, the same as when they riot against Wood Rogers). 

“Many tried to rule over this place. Why do you think he will succeed when they failed?”

It is a good question. 

Morgan used to not care for Long John Silver. He saw a man with a charming smile and a convincing speech, ready to do all baseness to rise within the rank. To do so under Captain Flint uncompromising character alone inspired respect. 

Morgan remembers how Flint used to be (before Long John Silver). 

He saw with his own eyes how Flint (solitary, brutal, untrusting Flint) first came to need him and then welcome him as an equal. 

He saw Flint follow him to Hell and come back; saw the adoration in his eyes even though he had given up on his purpose.

(If someone had told Morgan a year ago that a nobody would survive the brunt of Flint anger and determination, he would have killed the bastard just to wash him from the indignity of the lie.)  
Flint, if he is a memorable case, is not special, far from it.

Silver lost his entire crew but he has more people ready to obey him than any Captain before him.

“I think it’s because he loves us” admits Morgan. 

It sounds stupid, but it is true. Rackham chokes on his drink.

“What?”

“Since he became King he listened to every bugger on this island and tried to solve their misery. He met with bloody assholes, violent fuckers; he supported whores, he gave food to the needy and the poor. He looked at us and found us worthy of his respect. Nobody in the History ever did that before him.”

Rackham considers him carefully. It’s difficult to be compared to such a man. Rackham has always thought himself part of them but promised to a glorious fate. The like of Blackbeard and Vane relished into the chaos they created and didn’t care for the weak. Hornigold and Jennings could not live without riches to gorge on, they had no intention to share with anyone but themselves. 

Long John Silver took a long look at them (the rot, the ugly, the dregs of society) and he decided to be one of them. 

“So your opinion is that the free folks of this damned island have been rules by terrifying men, by practical men, by men ready to take over the world. Never before by a man who believe in them” sums up Rackham.

“I didn’t say it made sense” defends Morgan. “You were the one who named him King. Shouldn’t you know why you chose to follow him?”

Rackham laughs but it is devoid of humour. It is more disillusioned sound. 

“I have been reliably informed that I have a weakness for following powerful leader and wanting to impress them.”

Morgan stares at him in surprise. He doesn't have the excuse of alcohol to admit such an intimate thought. He seems as surprised by the admission as Morgan is. He clears his throat and empties his drink. He signals the host for another and for a moment they are distracted by their order. It’s starting to be late and Morgan could eat. 

Idelle watches them with suspicion and brings them both a plate. Morgan digs in, it’s been ages since he had conch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case this wasn't clear enough I love Silver's character XD
> 
> Sometimes I feel like it's too much but then I realise I must build a f***ing utopia with this man... so. Other people must like him too. 
> 
> Sorry if it's too much sometimes.


	19. Oh no, I can't slow down, I can't hold back (Though you know, I wish I could)

Featherstone bursts into the room out of breath and panic in his eyes. “Fields are burning” he gasps. 

What was supposed to be a quiet evening gathering the Quartermaster’s testimony becomes the premise of a disaster. Right now, they can’t afford to lose any food supply. 

“Raise as many volunteers you can to stop it” orders Silver. 

Featherstone pants but doesn’t immediately complies (any other time it wouldn’t boil his blood with the taste of urgency, they don’t have time for consideration.)

“Too far away from water” he pants. 

“Then bury the flames with sand see If I care” Silver is already halfway toward the exit. The ruckus must have alerted Flint and Thomas since they barged into the room. They bump on Featherstone on his way out but don’t stop him. 

“What’s going on?” asks Flint. If Silver had time he would admire his dishevelled appearance, his authoritative nature creeping back in his tone. 

“Fire in the fields” growls Silver barely stopping to explain. He needs a horse. Shit, even if he rushes he can’t be there sooner than an hour from now. And the volunteers will be even slower. He needs to call on Max to value the loss. He needs to move but there is so much to do and he doesn’t know where to start. (Story of his fucking life lately.)

Thomas has disappeared fuck knows where and Flint stops him when he tries to leave the room, holding on his arm and staring into his fucking soul. 

“You won’t go on your own” he warns dangerously. “This is no accident. It’s was done on purpose.”

Silver wants to dismiss the concerns. Right now they don’t have time to worry about his safety. Except he hasn’t live this long by ignoring Flint’s warnings; even when the man is wrong he is on to something. 

“Take whoever you trust but don’t go alone” presses Flint.

Silver would never need to think about the first name that pops up in his head. (It’s always going to be Flint.) But Flint obviously removed himself from the list. (Maybe he doesn’t want to risk his life now that he has Thomas.) (Maybe he has other plans.) (If he had wanted to be there he wouldn’t have asked Silver to choose; he wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.) 

Either way Silver needs to think about who would be best for this situation. “Morgan” he chooses. He’s a Captain he trusts and a decent fighter. “and Bonny.” He needs Max to stay in Nassau while he manages the fucking fire. He will also need her to be informed about what happens inland. 

Flint nods and the both walk out of the office (he hates this place, nothing ever good happens in it). Thomas is waiting for them with a few boys ready to bolt and spread any order he might give them. Flint is very efficient in sending them for his escort. He is also very clear Thomas is to come with him wherever they are going. They can’t be sure they are safe right now. 

Thomas nods for a lad to bring a saddled horse toward them (did Flint ask Thomas or did Thomas take the initiative himself?). Thomas takes the bridles from the lad and sends him away, Silver holds him his crutches and allows Flint to give him a push on the saddle. His balance is not great with the stump but he is a decent rider (decent enough not to fall in a full gallop, to fight if he needs to). His crutch is given back and he slides it between the straps, making sure it doesn’t hinder the horse moves.

Flint adjusts the breastplate with a stormy face, not at all subtly checking on the mare’s tack. (It’s probably a ploy to let his escort some time to prepare and join him). Flint faces turns worried and careful and suddenly Silver wishes he could do something to make it disappear (seeing Flint angry is such a delight, he had fought against Flint and along him for so long he knows every shade of his anger. But the worry is still new, it is still hurtful. Silver hates it with all his might).

“I’ll be careful” he says with such a vulnerable voice he surprise himself. 

Flint stares at him and nods his approval. Both him and Thomas step back to give him space.

Silver takes a big fortifying breath and urges his ride to break into a canter toward the edge of the city. He needs to focus on his balance if he doesn’t want to topple over the animal (it feels so much like the gusts of wind in the sails). His leg burns from the pressure but it’s different from the other sensations, it’s a good kind of burn. (The kind he felt when he was at sea, running to solve problems after problems.) 

The ride is a short one to the edge of town and he has to pace himself and slow down to wait for his escort. His mind twirls endlessly, his mare must be as nervous as he is since it keeps rearing and turning around. 

He can see the smoke, heavy and black; too far to know exactly where it’s happening.

(He waits, he promised Flint he would be careful.)

(Even if he is alone in the heat of the late afternoon, with no weapon to defend himself and no one to hear if he calls for help.) 

“Dammit” he swears under his breath. How complacent did they become in so little time? Flint is right, this is most certainly a trap. (They could be waiting for him on the road, cutlass at the ready and he wouldn’t be prepared.)

A two horse team leaves the city in his direction. He recognises Bonny, red hair flying in the blowing wind. Captain Morgan is controlling the bridle and Silver’s horse is ready to buck on the first inclination. He lets his tension cool down just a notch, he specifically requested them (might even go as far as trusting them with his life). (He won’t break his promise so soon after giving it.)

They don’t stop to chat and Silver finally releases the reins and lets his mare go. Instead of racing toward the road it goes level with the carriage on a trot. It’s not the most comfortable gait for Silver but it allows him to communicate with the other.

“Volunteers are on their way” shouts Bonny. She looks incredibly uncomfortable on her seat, trying and failing to hold on without her hand. She bounces off the wooden bench every other steps and her face goes from mulish to furious. Not that Silver has any better time. 

The closer they get to the fire the more they hear shouting. It also becomes apparent there is not only one fire. 

When they finally reach the first meadow they see a dozen free folks running with buckets of water, throwing it on the flame. More than a third of the crops are gone in smoke and it looks like the fire is ready to eat whatever is left of the field and more. 

One of the woman runs toward them, face covered in soot, she points toward the other hazes. 

“We have three other” she shouts at him. “And not enough people to stop them!”

“Help is on the way” answers Silver. “We need to isolate the remaining crops!” 

The noise is deafening, Silver can barely hear what she says in answer. She looks vaguely familiar, many of the former slaves left when he set them free but there is more who accepted his offer of acquiring the land and stayed. 

“Rip the corn to stop the fire” yells Bonny. “If it has nothing to burn it will stop.”

Both the woman and Silver stare at her in atonement. 

“The wind is going against us but with any luck, the plants will still be wet enough from the hurricane not to catch fire on the first spark” adds Captain Morgan. 

“Do as she says” he orders. “We can’t save it all.”

“At least 3 feet large” stresses Bonny. “Start far enough the fire won’t catch up with you.”

The woman frowns but nods her ascent.

“We need to see how the others are faring. Can you hold on?”

Again she nods but before Silver spurs on his mare she holds a death grip on his good leg.

“My people were hurt by yours” she hisses. “You’ll have to answer for it.”

Silver studies her deadly face. His instincts are shouting at him to defend himself. He is not responsible for this. But an insidious voice (who sounds suspiciously like Billy’s) tells him the exact opposite. He is the fucking King of this Island (even if he never chose to). 

“I will” he promises.

It takes them hours to stem the fires. Featherstone arrives with seventy volunteers (men and women; Silver even catches one of Idelle’s protegee among them) and they are all dispatched between the four fires to help.

Bonny’s suggestion slows down the flames long enough for the volunteers to extinguish it with sand and water. It’s a gruesome and frustrating job to mow the crops before they are ready to be reaped; to let the fire destroy all their effort to save another meadow. 

They are not big plots: when he gave them land Silver couldn’t afford to give more than an acre to each family. None of the settler bothered to separate them so close were they from each other. Whoever set them on fire knew how much damage it would do. 

When it’s finally done, it’s the middle of the night and they all collapse exhausted, not even caring to distinguished one from another. A rider is sent to Nassau to call for more help (fresh water and bath clothes, medicines and if possible a good news from Max) and the injured are gathered on the remaining dwelling to be, if not healed, at least settled more comfortably. 

Silver hovered around the survivor flanked by his escort. After the constant noise the eerie silence is grating on his nerves. He can’t rest yet; there is still too much to consider. They will have to resow food they can’t afford to spare. They have to found the perpetrator and find a way to punish him to satisfy all sides. They need to take care of the injured, to shelter the people who lost their home, to feed the whole place.

Someone kicks his ankle and he almost topples over.

“Sit” orders Bonny. She follows her own advice; spreading on the ground catching a breath. “You won’t be any use if you trip in the dark.”

“We need to…” protests Silver.

She kicks him again. “Stop being stupid.”

“Am not”

“Yes you are.”

Surprisingly the banter makes Silver smiles. 

Captain Morgan hovers not too far away; he keeps an eye on them. It’s a strange feeling, being protected. He tries to relax his muscles a bit. Now that the excitement is mostly over his leg is pulsing and nurturing his internal fire. 

“How is the hands?” he asks, half to distract himself half in concern. The last thing he needs is Max barrelling on him with murder intent because he hurt her lover. Or whatever they call themselves. 

“How is the leg?” counters Bonny. 

Silver knows better than to be offended. It’s even a bit funny if you think about it. Two crippled sitting next to each other too proud to talk about their injuries surrounded by a sea of desolation.  
Okay maybe he is a bit light headed. 

(Or Flint’s drama is rubbing on him.)

“Still hurts” he admits. 

He doesn’t why it’s easier to tell her. (Because she can understand. Because she doesn’t know him that well. Because he doesn’t care about her judgement. )

She eyes him suspiciously but he can see the careful way she doesn’t flex her fingers. 

“It probably will until I die.”

“You learnt to live around it” she says, almost accuses him. He can understand her bitterness. It reminds him of his own. 

He evades her stare. 

It wasn’t easy. Quartermasters don’t have the luxury of wallowing; there is simply too much to do. At first the crew expected nothing of him. He had made himself fucking invaluable to them and they decided he was… what? A mascot now? It drove him mad. He wanted to prove them wrong and so he rose above the pain and answered all their damned inquiries. 

The very first thing he did when he was deemed healed enough was put on the fucking peg leg. He endured the agony, the infection and the rot gnawing at what was left of his knee because he could not bear the idea of his men seeing him without it.

The more he pushed the more they asked of him but he could not accept that it was done for any other reason than pity or some misplaced loyalty.

“It took me a while to get it.”

“It’s not like I can just hop on a fucking crutch and calls it a day” she snarls.

She has a point. But the truth is he kept seeing himself as damaged, long after his crew stopped. He wouldn’t wish this fate to his worst enemy. (Okay maybe he would.) (Some of them deserve even more.) (But not someone he can tentatively call an ally.)

“It’s the pride you see? I thought what defined me was taken away, irremediably.”

The ability to run. He has always been able to escape from his problems. His legs had carried him always. He never thought he would be stupid enough to get attached somewhere. He never thought he would stop wanting to run. 

(Fucking Flint.)

(Fucking Madi.)

(Fucking New Providence.)

Bonny stays silent but he can sense how tense she is, how ready to bolt. He needs to be careful with her (he has no doubt she could still kill him, he remembers Dufresne’s story when he tore apart some poor sod jugular with his teeth) (Hell, he certainly hopes she hasn’t heard that story).

“Sir” interrupts Captain Morgan. “Single rider” he points toward the dirt road and Silver can see the man slowing down to a trot, his horse is white with sweat and ready to keel over. He finds them with letters and a solemn face. Silver stands swiftly, hiding his tiredness behind a resolute façade. 

“From Captain Flint and the Madam” announces the rider. 

Silver takes them. But he wants to make sure he came across the helping party on his way. The rider nods. 

“They will be here before the sun rises” he says.

It’s going to be too late for some of the most severe injured people. The longest they go without treatment the fewer their chances of survival are. Silver turns toward Captain Morgan and orders him to help their messenger to settle with the other survivors. 

He can do nothing without doctors or supplies so he focuses on the letters. 

“Bastard” he whispers has he read them, but it’s with a smile on his face. Bonny kicks his crutch, obviously resolute to ignore their previous talk and curious about what was so urgent Flint and Max had to write to them. “He convinces the Captains to agree with the terms. The first ship will leave in a week.”

“He could have moved his ass sooner” growls Bonny. “What’s Max’s saying?”

“Give me a minute, Jesus.”

Bonny shows her teeth in a vicious threat (if Silver swears it looks playful). He opens the letter and this time his swears is a lot less elated. 

“She reports suspicious activity from Jennings crew” he reads out loud. “Discouraging the townspeople to volunteer to help, talking about the slaves’ sabotages. Shit.”

“You should have killed him” comments Bonny.

“I can’t just kill people who disagree with me.”

“You and Jack keep saying that. Sounds to me it would solve a lot of your problems.”

Silver doesn’t bother answering; he feels the beginning of a headache. He needs to remind himself not so long ago he talked about killing people with as much triviality. 

“That’s what Rogers thoughts” he answers undiplomatically. He is aware he is being rude, he is just too fucking tired to have wits. Bonny grumbles but doesn’t contradict him.

When Captain Morgan comes back he is followed by the woman who addressed them when they arrived. She is filthy (they all are) but she walks with her back straight and her eyes reminds him of another woman. (She walks with dignity, he recognises.)

She sits face to him, cradling her burn hand on her belly, not once looking away from him. 

“My name is Amara” she says. “I will be the voice of my people.”

Silver nods but adds nothing. It’s something he learned: to listen first and asks questions later. 

“Why you came to our help when you send the _apaniyan_ in the first place.”

He doesn’t need to understand the word, her feeling toward whoever set the fire is pretty clear. She looks angry and rightly so. 

“I didn’t order anyone to set fire to your homes” he states as honestly as he can. Lies and dissimulation will be of no help here. 

“I told you” puffs Captain Morgan offended.

“Your words have no value to me” answers Amara bluntly. “Yours” she adds while pointing at Silver with her good hand “I don’t know if they can be trusted. When you came to us, when you set free our brothers and sisters, we thought maybe we could believe in the words you said. The Maroon Queen supported you, the Queen’s _ọmọbinrin_ followed you and talked about you with respect. I saw with my own eyes you were capable of justice when you surrender your right-hand man to us.”

Billy swollen face is a difficult memory; Julius words even more so. 

_Amongst pirates, loyalty changes quickly, it seems. If a man can be replaced so easily, how can I know that his promises won't be, too?_

Was it justice then? Was it a choice between two friends? How many times did he break his promises like they were nothing? 

_Do not lose sight of your purpose John Silver._

(Build a place he could live in without rage.)

(Build a place she could call a safe haven.)

“What changed?” he asks. He is tired of not knowing if what he does is the right thing. 

“Since the end of the _iji lile_ we have been beleaguered by the white pirates of Nassau. We sent messages and envoys to warn you, but you ignored us.”

“I didn’t receive them.”

“Even if you didn’t, your negligence in controlling your men caused this.”

Amara smiles darkly, she isn’t here to hear his excuses. She is here to reclaim retribution.

“What do you want?” asks Bonny, tensed and ready to strike. 

“I want your King to take responsibility. Or does he have another friend to sacrifice to save the truce this time?”

Silver remembers the day he ordered his friend to the freemen’s justice. He remembers the look of betrayal on his face. He probably lost more than his friendship on this day. (It was the right thing to do at the time.)

(What is the right thing to do now?)

“I’ll take it” jumps Captain Morgan. 

_You cannot judge a man’s soul by the riches he acquires not by the people he holds in his power._ His own words echoes in his head. 

(Nassau needs to live another day. And another, and a day after that.)

_Then, and only then, will you be ready to make the necessary sacrifices or die trying._

“No.” stops Silver. “If you are willing to spare my life, I will surrender to your justice.”

(Flint will understand.)

“And if I am not?” asks Amara.

Suddenly Bonny has a knife on her hand and Captain Morgan’s weapons are drawn.

“I cannot forfeit my life” explains Silver (he can’t ask them to sheathe, he can’t show weakness… to either of them.) “And you do not want it either.”

“You presumptuously think you know what we want” states Amara.

Bonny is still on her guards but Captain Morgan’s slowly relaxes. Silver doesn’t need to look around, he knows every men and women in the vicinity is watching them. This is a confrontation he can’t refuse. He can’t keep them apart from each other in the hope it won’t encourage resentment. 

They need reconciliation. 

“I’ll take responsibility for what happened today and all the offense done to you and your people.”

(Flint will understand)

(Or he is going to kill him.)

Amara nods. "Ododo" she says, unwavering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I made the choice to go with Yorouba here. It comes straight from google translate so sorry if there is any mistake.  
> apaniyan - assassin  
> ọmọbinrin - daughter  
> iji lile - hurricane  
> Ododo - Justice


	20. Do you walk in the valley of kings? (Do you walk in the shadow of men)

The tavern is not full; it’s a bit early for the rush. However Jack recognizes a few other faces. One specifically holds his attention. 

“Is M. Lillywater telling the story of Gambia’s governor again?” he asks amused.

Max turns and watches the scene in front of her. It’s a small crowd around the man. He is blond like the sun and his skin is white as a bone. It’s a miracle he hasn’t burned on the harsh sun of the Caribbean. Jack has no idea how he does it. 

“How he still finds a public who hasn’t heard of it is a mystery” she drawls. 

“He likes to hear himself talk” grumbles Jack (which he admits is kinda rich coming from him).

“It’s a good story” comments Anne.

Jack never said it was a bad story. Davis’s crew went to Gambia and in one of his famous bout of cunning, dressed his entire crew with riches from a previous hunt. Then he introduced himself as a Nobleman from England. Of course the Governor was more than happy to invite him and his entourage for a party; just a little dinner between friend of the High Society. All the crew went and were fed the most exquisite meal. Deep in the night they robbed the Governor from all his fortune and sailed with the rising sun preventing anyone from following them. 

“Yeah, the first hundred times” he admits.

“You are the one to talk” says Max in jest.

Anne snorts and keeps watching the crowd. She seems to be in a better mood lately, have been since the luxurious days they spend during the Hurricane. She reclaimed a bit of control over her life, Jack supposes. He is happy to help any time. 

The three of them reunited around a meal is a rare occasion. Max spent the afternoon appraising the repair, Jack tried (again) to convince the Captains of the validity of incorporating the Guthrie’s debt into their profit, and Anne lounged all day long waiting for them. 

He can tell she is bored; the novelty of resting was already dwindling before the storms. They managed to keep her occupied for as long as they could. But keeping Anne sexually satisfied is not a long term solution. 

He is still not overly fond of sharing Anne with Max; it is probable his relationship with Max based on trust is now reduced to a fragile agreement to keep Anne happy. They try to avoid talking about their situation. He gives Anne the space she needs to be herself (which is not his wife apparently) and watches silently as Max slowly gets back into her good grace. 

(Yes, he is still slightly mad about it. It’s hard not to feel a bit rejected okay? Max betrayed her too, and on Jack’s opinion, in a more vicious way than Jack ever did. )

He doesn’t notice one of Idelle’s girls until he sees Max tense (it’s a habit he developed when they started their arrangement; Max has the observation skill of a hawk, better than observing around him, he observes her. It helped him get out of enough of trouble he kept the habit. Of course it never occurred to him to keep track of her own troubles at the time. If he did they wouldn’t be here). Her relationship with Idelle and her girls is still strained. Being in the same room as the two of them can be uncomfortable. (It’s hilarious to Jack, because they chose to work together and suffer the nerves than be apart and let the other win their argument.) (Okay, maybe he sees the point of that.) (Does that make him Idelle in their situation?)

He recognizes Alice, not their biggest fan (Jack is a petty man, he can probably guess it started when Max slapped her in front of everyone).

“Featherstone asks for Bonny.” she says, staring at Anne and ignoring them.

“What does he want?” asks Max.

Alice green eyes turn toward her with disinterest. 

“Don’t care, didn’t ask. He crashed into the brothel and asked where she was” she pointed her finger at Anne. Anne answered by showing her teeth like an offended dog.

Alice steps back just enough to feel safer. Jack is not the one telling her that if Anne wants to eat her alive she has no chance, and there is no extra 5 inch between them that will change that fact.   
Alice stares him down with a judging look.

“Why would he need me?” asks Anne. Which is a good point, admits Jack.

“I don’t know, Jesus, with all the questions. Just ask Featherstone” 

They abandon her at the tavern where she joins the kitchen staff (and probably steal some food). Intrigued, they walk toward the brothel (former brothel whatever). They find it in disarray, Idelle is on a war footing, calling all her girls and distributing tasks. Max frowns and without further notice asks what the fuck is going on.

“The fields are on fire” answers Idelle, full of nervous tension and managing her beehive of whores (former whores).

Suddenly the urgency of the situation ram into them. Jack wants to shake Alice like an apple tree for keeping this piece of information from them. 

“We are taking as many volunteers as we can to put the blaze out. Silver asked for Morgan and Anne to join him inland. He is waiting in the North gate. Esther is on her way to him and I asked Isabella to prepare the cab.”

“You need to round the volunteers” pressed Max, already ready to step in and take the lead off Idelle. 

“Why the fuck would Silver need me?” asks Anne at the same time. Which is a very good point if someone deigned to ask Jack. 

Red face and ready to collapse, Featherstone pants in answer that Flint suggested it could be an ambush and Silver chose both Anne and Captain Morgan as his escort.

It doesn’t ease on Anne’s confusion but it calls on her curiosity (and probably her unrest). 

Jack wishes he could protest (he is not fool enough to; if Anne could survive Wood Rogers hateful crew she could survive any one). It’s strange; he never tried to keep her safe before her injury. She was the one keeping them safe and it meant more than once that she was the one in danger. He doesn’t need to watch toward Max direction to know she also has mixed feeling about this. 

Slowly Anne’s face turns blood-thirsty; Jack knows she doesn’t care how her hands will probably slow her down. She is been rooting for a fight she could be a part of. 

(Well, lucky he planned for this, right?)

“Come with me”

He doesn’t turn around when we walks decisively toward their room; he knows she is following. (He knows her in and out. It should be annoying that he is starting to get Max with the same intimacy. But now is not the time to pounder his life decisions.)

Once they are in his room he takes a minute to breathe. Of course Anne takes it the wrong way.

“If you are trying to stop me” she starts rebellious. 

Jacks turns around to face her with his most self-righteous face. “Who do you think I am?” he asks hurt. Even to himself it sounds fake. What kind of man is he if he can’t trust her? 

“Jack”

He sweeps aside her protests and kneels close to the bed. He finds the package he is been hiding here easily. It hasn’t been here for a week yet, he had been waiting for the right occasion after all. Anne peaks at him, annoyance overrun by curiosity.

“Here try this” he says, uncovering the item. 

“What is it?”

“I made it for you. Or more accurately the smith made it for…”

“Jack” she interrupts. “What is it?”

It is a sheath with two straps, just long enough to be fastened around a forearm. Jack saw a man or two with the kind of tool; it is a rudimentary design, not as precise as her cutlass but deadly enough. And she wouldn’t need her hands. 

He babbles at her, how he got the idea and why he made commissioned (like it is not obvious) and she watches him talk. (Not out of patience but out of shock. She probably thought she would never hold a blade ever again.)

He is interrupted by two scarred hands on his cheeks and an aggressive mouth on his own. She kisses him with more strength than what he thought her capable of. (When will he leave this bad habit of underestimating her?)

Idelle shouts from downstairs that the carriage is ready and Captain Morgan is here waiting for her. 

“Fuck you Jack” she says before disappearing with the blade. (Is he fated to hear these words every time someone he loves leaves him behind?) 

He stays in their room alone just for a moment; heavy heart and heavy feet. He knows he needs to move. He just needs a minute. He is not exactly surprised when Max joins him. 

“I’m going to kill Silver” she says without preamble. 

“Join the club” grumbles Jack. He takes strength in her presence against his will. Whatever they are to each other they share the same love for her. Someday it is enough to believe in Max again.

“It’s smart, the blade. She won’t need her hands to use it.”

Jack snorts at the obvious statement. 

“Kinda the purpose.” He shakes himself out of his stupor. “How many volunteered?”

“Surprisingly few. One would think that they would be very adamant to protect their only resource of food” she looks suspicious. “I think Flint might be right on this being a trap. But I have a suspicion it’s too obvious to be an ambush against Silver.”

“What’s on your mind?” he asks. 

“I need to make a few inquiries. I asked Idelle to send a few girls with the group so they could snoop a bit. She is also very concerned about our stock of medicine.”

“She isn’t wrong.”

“We lived apart from the rest of the world for almost six month” drawls Max. “If our food burns, no pretty words will fix the situation. We have Mrs Guthrie support right now, it is only this speck of respectability that prevented the English army to smite us to the ground.”

Suddenly all his goodwill toward Max disappears replaced with irritation.

“Do you want to deal with them while I make fancy inventory? I don’t tell you how to do your job don’t tell me how to do mine.”

“You should have convinced them weeks ago” fulminates Max.

“You think I don’t know that? They have been resisting every progress we made …”

They are interrupted by Idelle, she looks very annoyed by their fight.

“Now is not the time” she warns. “Flint and M. Hamilton are here.”

It is enough of an oddity to draw their attention. They follow her downstairs and see for themselves. Flint, arms crossed and obviously impatient, and M. Hamilton, not as reserved as they saw him in the festival but still quiet in the agitation, are waiting for them. 

Max hides a smug smile before departing as smoothly as she can. He watches her leaves as she utters under her breathe to deal with this. 

“What are you doing here?” asks Jack. He is pissed at Flint; he is the one who should be protecting Silver right now, not Anne.

“I’m getting in the fucking front line. Call the council. They will agree to our terms tonight.”

This… asshole dares to come here and heralds himself their fucking hero? 

Jack revokes his words: Flint is not good at “the chatting stuff” as Anne so charmingly put. Flint doesn’t listen; he doesn’t take other consideration but his own. He is good at imposing his will to others. Jack realises he doesn’t need his explosive temper or his capacity to crush anyone who would dare to disagree with him. What Jack needs him for is his navigation skills, his excellent sea charts knowledge, and his daring decisions that make his ship goes unbelievably fast, unbelievably far.

“Of all the arrogant son of a gun I ever met… I followed you Flint, I followed you to your madness, but you are an idiot if you think you can barge in this council and then bully the Captains to yield to your will. These men aren’t Burgess or Woodall or The Cockrams. Your negotiation skills are shitty on a good day, and in my opinion the last thing we needs. “

The little lord steps in between them, firmly interfering with their argument “Please Captain Rackham” he asks in a very polite and poised voice “would you apprise us of the situation?”

Jack lets the anger pass through him. He spots a table, away from the frenzy of the rescue party. He nods toward it, leading his unsought guests.

“I have arranged for our first contract with the sailing company that I have built, you are welcome by the way.” He lets himself fall on a chair and continues, like the world around him is not burning. “We are mostly ready to leave this godforsaken island but for one tiny details. As you are aware, when Max and I last went to Philadelphia we contracted a debt with the Guthrie family so they could support Nassau’s independence. I’ve been trying to convince the Captain to pay the debt out of their own share, since they traditionally receive two.”

“I suppose they are reluctant to give up that privilege” guesses the little lord while sitting in front of him. Jack’s has to admit it is a good sum up of his predicament. 

“Indeed” he sighs reluctantly. 

“Who is part of the council? Besides Morgan and Jennings” asks Flint standing like a watch dog behind M. Hamilton. He keeps a careful inch in front of him, not to crowd his partner. (Jack would have thought they would be all over each other.)

“Jennings refused to be part of it. But Davis, Bonnet, England, a new guy named John Roberts.” It’s three of the greatest pirate ever born and one sired by them. Flint frowns because he knows, as Jack knew, that these names would never collaborate with each other without another one. “And Labouche.”

Flint winces. Yeah, Jack would too if he had killed the best friend of the man who could turn the table to their advantage. Captain Labouche, Hornigold and Blackbeard; any respectable pirate had heard of them once in their life. Flint was responsible for the death of one of them; Jack had witnessed the end of another and done nothing. Yeah Labouche wasn’t going to agree on them; it was a miracle on its own that he agreed to be part of the Council.

“Why not find another way to cut the shares?” suggests M. Hamilton.

“You see it’s not exactly the share they have a problem with. It is the Guthrie. What we saw as an opportunity they see as the return of old enemies: meddling in their affairs and taxes.”

Flint doesn’t utter a word while his lord acquaints himself with a decade of pirate politic. Jack doesn’t envy him. 

“If I understand, this Captain Labouche?” he tests the name and keeps going when nobody corrects him. “If you can make him agree with you, the other would follow.”

“That would be the easy way” answers Jack. It irritates him to be stuck on the same problem for so long. No matter how he looks at it, he finds no solution. “Captain Labouche is old, by Nassau’s standard and bloody rich. Which means he is not here for the glory or the money.”

The little lord looks at Flint in confusion, then at Jack. “I understand it was one of the motivations of the council” he says nonplussed. 

“You would be right” confirms Jack. “So you understand my suspicion when he came and joined it.”

“You think he is here for revenge?” asks Flint, all his demeanour shouting fatalistic acceptance.

Jack tries not to succumb to his frustration. 

“If he is, he hasn’t said a word about it.”

The little lord presses his fingers to his temple.

“What about the other? Do you need them all to agree?” 

To be fair, Jack has underestimated him. For someone who jumps into their island’s affairs with no background knowledge, he is making good assumptions. 

“It’s not exactly good manner to act on the name of someone who disagree with you. Either they must all agree or nothing can be done. Hence my situation.”

“How can you do anything with this kind of logic?” wonders M. Hamilton. Jack doesn’t fault him. He had his share of frustration with this rule. Of course, he found ways around them. Those he could not threaten he bought. “Could the others be persuaded individually and then pressure Captain Labouche to agree?”

“Bonnet and England shouldn’t be too difficult to deal with” states Flint. 

It is strange, since the beginning of their little talk, Flint has been subdued, almost reserved. 

“You are not listening” presses Jack. “I have tried all that already. England is a softie who will side with the majority. Bonnet agrees with all his big heart about the freedom speeches; the man has been hunting slave ships for years now. I’m positive Davis and Roberts can be reasoned with as long as they are not in the same room. It’s not the agreeing with me that’s the problem. It’s the giving coin to the Guthrie.”

“Don’t give it to the Guthrie then” Jack is about to protest (who is he going to give the money to?) This is a waste of his time. “No listen” protests M. Hamilton. “Give it to Silver. He is the King he can take the money in exchange for labour or right of way. Then Silver gives it to the Guthrie.”

It’s so elegantly simple Jack gaps for a full minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay lot of OC are about to come in play. Most of them are proper historical pirates if you wondered. Most of the anecdote I'm gonna say about them are true (or as true as we can remember)
> 
> Also ooooooooooooooooooh myyyyyyyyyy gooooooosh but this scene is killing me !!! I'm suppose to have writen this since Jennings first appearance and I'm still not done with it.
> 
> I wish I could say Rackham's voice is flowing easily in my writting. I'm afraid he is so brilliant in the show I'm struggling with keeping him in character. (Also for those who wondered why he hasn't play daddy for the new captains there is a proper explaination... You'll have to indulge me.)


	21. He’s somewhere between (A hangman’s knot and three mouth to feed)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for emotional talk and situation about slavery and racism  
> Talk about dead children  
> Talk about dead black people  
> Non consensual punishment (not graphic)

Five people died tonight. When the second rescue party came, two were already passed, and the few doctor they had failed to save the other three. Among the casualties lies a child, not yet thirteen. Anne hates it when children die: it’s messy, everyone gets angry and emotional (it reminds her too much how it could have been her). 

It means Silver will be judged by five of the victim’s relatives for a crime he didn’t commit. It’s stupid. For all her hate of British trials she thinks they had the good taste of separating the judges from the grieving. At least it gives a chance for the allegedly perpetrator to receive a fair sentence. 

(What the hell is she talking about, all the trial she ever heard of were a sham. There is no such a thing as Justice in this life.)

But Silver didn’t listen to her when she protested. He didn’t listen to her when she said it was stupid for him to shoulder the blame of Jennings crime. (Because let’s be honest here, he is the one who would profit the most of this chaos.) No, instead of listening to reason, he ordered Featherstone to organize the return of the volunteers to Nassau on the morning. He supervised the distribution of food and water so each could have an equal share. He followed the fucking grievers to be judged apart from the crowd of survivors.

Somehow he listened when she said she would come with him. He also convinced the bitch who forced his hand to let her keep her weapon.

(What the fuck game was Silver playing?)

The night is not over yet and Anne is exhausted. She is filthy and on edge (she is covered in ashes and a little worried she will have to clean her hands again to make sure she doesn’t get infections).

At least nobody tried to force a fucking trial on her. She was never Silver’s friend, barely even talked to him even before Jack made him a King (and what the fuck Jack?). She shouldn’t care but she can’t get out of her head it is unfair. Silver has done nothing but tried to help these people. 

“We shall begin” says Amara. Of course she is the one chairing the trial. They are all sitting on the ground, covered in soot just as her but they force Silver to stay standing, under their scrutiny.  
Anne doesn’t care for him but she can respect his unwavering resolve.

She is here as a witness, ordered not to interrupt whatever happens. _Even if they beat me to death_ , she remembers Silver saying. _If this is what it takes to keep the peace._

“We have gathered the mothers, sisters, fathers and sons of the deceased” says Amara. 

At least they are doing this privately, out of eavesdrop and curious eyes. Morgan had wanted to come too, but they need someone to keep an eye on the camp, making sure no one tries to follow them. It’s weird how intense he had told her to keep Silver safe. She made no promise but dutifully followed the group in the forest. Anne will never get used to this island; she could walk for hours and finds three different landscapes. There is barely any light filtering from the trees, heavy with fruit and still dank from the rain. (If there was any doubt it was an accident, it is thoroughly proved wrong.)

“Since we were freed from them, _funfun okunrin_ of Nassau came here and destroyed our community. We have kept our peace in deference for your deeds. In spite of our call for help when they harassed us, you did nothing. Tonight five of our own blood died, while we were laboring the very fields that would feed us all.”

Anne wants to growl, annoyed with the fancy talk. (This is what Jack is for, Max too when she gets in a mood. Not her. Never her.)

(She is the one who stays back and assesses threats; makes sure they stay alive long enough to do the talking instead of her.)

(Which is… now that she thinks of it… it can apply now too. Except she can’t get rid of the threat because it would become a bigger clusterfuck than it already is.)

Silver stays quiet (is he even in a state to defend himself?). He was too when Amara accused him earlier. It’s a wonder such a man became so famous about his ability to talk out of every dangerous situation when he is so silent. (Also incredibly still.)

“My brother Abidemi” Amara says, emotion coloring her voice for a moment. “Be his name remembered. “

“My Father Ekundayo” says a woman on her right. “Be his name remembered. “

“My daughter Adetokunbo” adds a man. “Be his name remembered. “

Anne watches as they all tell the name of their deceased, the solemnity in their words touches her in a way she can’t describe. She remembers how Charles used to say the name of his lost crew with the same severity. She knew little about his past (before he met Teach). Today she regrets not asking. She learns the boy’s name. Kayin. It’s a foreign name in her mind. She lets it pass through her, doesn’t get attached. (She has enough to lose as it is, she doesn’t want to burden herself with a stranger.)

“I have heard their name” answers Silver. “I will remember them.”

This must be an appropriate answer since the five judges nods (is it relief, is it satisfaction? Anne couldn’t know).

“We assembled here to ask reparation for their death.”

“I speak for my daughter and I say: we sit as you sat while you asked Julius to unite, so we could free the new world. I was there when you sacrificed your friend to secure our allegiance. Now, the new world isn’t free and you ask again for the same trust. Why should we trust you when you betrayed us already?”

Anne subtly unclenches her leg. She wants to be ready to jump if she needs to be. She sees no peaceful way to solve this shit. 

“I speak for my father and I say: you gave us land and expected us to feed you. You tell us it’s for our own benefit, but you expected us to give you the food we would grow with our labor. You gave us the name of free men but you still acted like you owned us.” 

“I speak for my sister and I say: your act tonight show you are a good man, you came to our help and you made sure we could heal our injured. But you are not a man, you are a King and the actions of the _funfun okunrin_ are under your responsibility.” 

Anne is surprised at first that one of them would defend Silver. Isn’t it the point of their masquerade? It’s not that she lacks empathy for their loss. She doesn’t see the point in all the ceremonial. If someone takes what she cares, she will take revenge on them; no need for pretty words. (What does she do when the one who took who she holds dear is also one who she cares for? That is a question she hasn’t solved yet.)

The mother of Kayin starts her own pledge. It is hashed, interrupted by her sobs and hiccups. 

“I speak… for. I speak for my son” she says. “You promised safety for… for him. For all of us. You took him, not with your hands but with your promises. I shall see you dead before the sun rise.”  
Anne wants to grab Silver and run. (But can he run?) He is still silent, motionless. She wonders if it is a show of casual indifference; or perhaps a disguise to hide his agitation.

“We have talked. Now is the time for the punishment.”

Amara is the last to speak. She has the good sense not to look conceited. The sentence seems obvious to her, Silver is at her mercy. She could start the beginning of a new war (Anne has no doubt Flint would start one to see the death of Silver avenged.) (God, even if she survives tonight, she doesn’t want to live a day in a world where Silver dies and Flint survives him.) 

This is not the way Anne thought she would die. 

(Away from them)

_I will see you on the other side._

“Would you allow me to speak for my defence?” asks Silver. His voice is rough with fatigue and Anne can relate to that. (When is this nightmare going to end?)

“Yes”

“You are right. I came here not six months ago and I promised you a partnership to regain your freedom. I asked you to join on a war I couldn’t fight with all my heart because I was too afraid of losing the people I loved.”

This is not the defence Anne would have imagine. She expected him to twist their words and trick them. What he gives them instead of wit is vulnerability. It is repent. 

The silence welcoming his words is similar to the silence she witnessed on the tavern, the night they saw the play. 

_I do not care if they are guilty or if they are not._

“I was crowned King and I promised you peace and failed. And for that I am sorry. I understand you have the right to ask for my life but I beg you not to take it. Not because I deserve to live, but because I want” he takes a breathe, sways on his leg, straightens as much as he can on his crutch. “I want this island to be a place that never was before. A place without rage. A place where lives won’t be measured, where we will not lose the one we love because they were wagered and deemed a reasonable loss.”

_Give me their burdens, give me their blames._

“I beg of you not to punish me so harshly that I could not carry on. Because you, Nassau, all of us, we deserve to live in a place of light. Let me redeem myself by building this place, with you. Let me atone for the loss you have suffered every day of my life until this is a place where we could all be free of the pain.”

_I’ll shoulder the load and I’ll swallow the shame._

There is unrest among the judges. Even Amara, who was so sure of herself a mere moment ago seems to reconsider her decision. They talk briefly among themselves in a language Anne doesn’t understand. She stays focus, this could still end in another disaster (but unbelievably it could not).

Silver lonely figure tremors and Anne stands to help support his weight. Silver nods his refusal. Anne huffs at the stupidity, but she understands the need to stand on her own legs. So she subtly puts herself by his shoulder; if he decides to rest on it, nobody would be none the wiser.

“Not long now” he whispers (to himself or to her she doesn’t know).

“Don’t do anything stupider” she answers anyway. “You might change their mind now, we don’t want to put their decision at risk.”

He smiles distractedly. It is not encouraging in the least. 

“Do you have a plan if this fails?” she asks.

He doesn’t bother to answer her and waits for their verdict. It doesn’t take long.

“You are lucky” says Amara “that we won’t ask for revenge.”

Anne lets her body relaxes, enough not to appear threatening (she allows herself to feel relieved, maybe hopeful). 

“But your words of honour are empty. We won’t deny wanting the future you present. We need insurances. We decided on a punishment.”

They all stand, circling both Silver and Anne.

“You shall bear the words of your promise for everyone to see and if you ever failed them again, suffer the shame of the lies on your skin until the day you die.”

“How the hell are you going to do that?” asks Anne. 

“I have the feeling this not going to be pleasant” jests Silver. “It would require ink and needles, for sure.” They nod. “Of course. And when you say for all to see I suppose you mean it literally? ”

“A lot of people are reclaiming justice” says one of the judges. “They must witness with their own eyes that this time, it is for good.”

“Great” deadpans Silver. “I’m sure it won’t take a long time.”

“You made quite a lot of promises” answers Amara. “They need to be recorded. We will start on the first light of morning. Be back then or we will make sure to burn everything you cherish, once and for all.”

The five of them depart, leaving her alone with Silver.

“Could have been worse” she reasons.

“Should have kept my mouth shut” grumbles Silver while falling gracelessly on the ground. (He would call it sitting but Anne knows better.)

“I have to tell this is the most well spotted punishment I ever heard. Also it’s going to be painful.”

Silver licks his desiccated lips. She guesses he didn’t have any water since their departure from Nassau and the fire didn’t arrange his thirst. “You need water” she states, “and sleep. Come on get up.”

He stands with difficulty but follows her, back toward their camp. She supposes there are still a few hours before the beginning of dawn. “You could still run” she says, conversational. 

He laughs and answers with an openness she can barely understand.

“If I was capable of running without regret, if I was that kind of man…” he lets the thought unfinished. “I have lived a life where I didn’t have anything to care for; no one I could count on but myself. I’m not eager to return to this life again.”

She nods and leaves him in the company of Morgan, who looks relieved to see them intact. She doesn’t want to be there when Silver tells him what the judgment entails so she goes on a search for water and food. (Morgan has shown he is not too bad tempered, but he is loyal to Silver. A fickle mix.)

All the people around her are asleep except for a dozen watchmen. They are armed and, she sees from the look in their eyes, ready to kill on the first chance. From their stance she sees what Amara had been referring too. For these people, there is no insurance this will be the last violence they will suffer. They have been betrayed by the very man who swore to protect them. 

(The more she thinks about it, the more she realises why Silver agreed to the ’punishment’.)

She grabs stuffs as well as she can and comes back with her arms full. (She manages to keep it all balanced against her torso and that in itself is a small victory.) She lets it all fall on the ground and kicks a gourd half filled with water towards Silver. She takes a piece of stale bread with her wrist and bite into it (she looks like a savage but food is food and she is ravenous).  
He eats distractedly, without really paying attention to her. 

“Where is Morgan?” she asks her mouth full.

“He left. He thinks he can convince them to solve this thing without hurting me.”

Good luck with that.

“Will he lose his shit before tomorrow?” she asks. 

“Probably not”

Then it’s not her problem.

“I never thought you would care this much.”

She chews carefully on her meagre meal. The truth is, she doesn’t know. She can begrudgingly admit some respect for him but not enough to risk herself. But what he said to her earlier is nagging at her.

_I thought what defined me was taken away._

She has always defined herself as the one capable of all the atrocities to keep Jack safe. Then Max happened and she didn’t know who she was anymore. She searched for answer, she went on a journey of her own. She found out she was capable of without Jack at her side. It made her stronger, freer and ironically better at protecting the one she loved. 

It wasn’t the first time she had to redefine herself after she loses a part of her she thought she would never loose. Jack was like one of her limb, it is natural it feels the same pain, the same uncertainty when she is deprived of her actual limbs as when she lost him. 

“You picked me to keep you safe. I keep you safe” she shrugs. 

Maybe it is what define her, what she is capable of when she protects others. 

“Now sleep. Or I will knock you out.”

He snorts and lies down in the dirt. By all mean it’s not comfortable, but he will need every bit of strength for tomorrow. 

“Please don’t kill any one while I’m out” he murmurs.

She waits until his breath gets regular, until she is sure he is asleep to let her own dam of emotion broke. She could sleep too, but then who would watch over this dumb fuck. She’ll sleep in the morning; she won’t need to be awake for what they will do to him anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> funfun okunrin : white men
> 
> I might have been influenced by #blm. Let me tell you it's a bad time to do research on slavery and not feel utterly disgusted by white ppl. 
> 
> I decided to give the inland ppl Yoruba names since we are still on a first to second generation of slaves and they would remember (and claim) their birth culture. (Wikipedia informs me it started in earnest in the end of 17th century and we are early 18th...) Also they have beautiful meanings...  
> Abidemi : born during the father's absence  
> Ekundayo : sadness becomes joy  
> Adetokunbo : the crown came from the sea  
> Kayin : celebrated child
> 
> I quoted the last episode of BS because it was just perfect. I also quoted Kimberly Jones because I think she is right and her words ring true to me. So yeah...


	22. So you feel entitled to a sense of control (And make decisions that you think are your own)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last !!!  
> Okay, so fair warning, what should have been an easy chapter set just after Jenning's introduction is now a fucking monster of three chapters.   
> Update schedule is going to be a lot more chaotic is the next few weeks sorry about that.

It’s been a long decade since the last time he stood behind Thomas to support his opinion. 

The irony is not lost on him. He was there when Thomas put together the most daring plan to get rid of the pirates of Nassau; then, when it worked, Flint made sure to destroy the very foundation of civilization to assuage his thirst for revenge. Now he is once again devising about how to establish Nassau’s respectability. 

Maybe irony is not the right word. 

Fate? Destiny? 

Of course not everyone around the table share the humour of his situation. 

Rackham was reluctant to make Thomas known to the assembly. Thomas was quietly indecisive in how to introduce himself. They had compromised by asking Thomas to stay unobtrusive in the room while Rackham would do the talking.

Thomas is still reluctant to be touched or to eat proper food but his mind is quicker daily. Rest did him good but he needs activity; and what a better challenge than to figure out Nassau’s politics.

It’s a risky bet, but Flint was willing to take it. 

It was uncharitable (and untrue) to tell Rackham he would solve his problems; his reaction earlier was not unexpected. Flint had awaited for Thomas to defused the hostility of their conversation and latched on the real problem. It was a cheap trick (one he learnt from Silver actually, to know when you are over your head and let other, more capable people, takes the lead). 

(He might favour a certain sort of people.)

(Some had a type for blue eyes or big cleavages. James Flint loves them smart as whip.)

(And kind.)

(Sue him.)

(Anyway.)

(Not what he was supposed to focus on.) 

(He feels very warm and very aware of the impropriety of his thoughts.)

Despite Rackham insistence Flint has no wish to intervene; but he has confidence in Thomas’s ability to solve it before the night ends. 

He has made peace with his limitations; it’s been a long time coming. 

Skeleton Island unmade him. He went as the ferocious Captain Flint who has been through too much, who twisted himself to become a beast, to ask, no, to demand for revenge and came back as someone new; someone who was capable of accepting loss and letting it go. 

He was renewed, but this is not without consequences. 

What he gave up (on the Island, on the beach with only the moon light to light the way, on the office when he had to feed him piece by piece) he can never pick it up again. Or it will be lost forever.   
The same way he build the persona of Flint to do what had to be done in the name of his revenge, he build another to support Silver’s new world. 

(Silver doesn’t need his rage, or his cunning. He needs his unrelenting trust.)

He has tried to impress upon pirates an image of strength and uncompromising character for ten years. It’s a difficult habit to shake. (If he could quiet the bell in his head ringing for danger every time he turns his back on them it would be splendid. As unlikely as it sounds, he could live without the constant fear of being backstab.)

It would be easier if he hadn’t the very reason he became Flint in front of him. 

Thomas return in his life is a miracle he is not sure he will ever comprehend. Being with Thomas makes him want to be James McGraw again: a man who loved and didn’t know loss, a man who could not bear the idea of loss.

James McGraw needs to be ready to protect Thomas from an onslaught (physical or verbal) and thus stays like a silent vigil on his side while he observes the room and its occupant.

(He should be used to have two voices trying to dictate his nature. He heard James McGraw’s objections plenty of time when he became Captain Flint. But he just ignored whatever one of the voice would tell him then. Now he listens to them both and tries to make sense of it.)

(He is no longer James McGraw, who was killed when he Charlestown burnt down.)

(He is no longer Captain Flint, who laid down his arms on Skeleton Island.)

“It’s a waste of time” whispers Thomas. 

Flint refocuses his attention outward. His lap in attention is unnoticed; all the Captain are fighting about one topic or another. 

It seems Davis is notably irritated by the breach of protocol concerning their meeting. 

“You know the rules Rackham” he says. “If we are not completed no decision can be taken.”

“Captain Morgan will be unavailable tonight” pressed Rackham. “As you are aware there is a situation inland that requires his attention.”

Davis is small compared to the others, he mostly uses his looks to be underestimated. Flint never saw his tactic with his own eyes but he heard of them. Davis is a master of disguise and deception. Some says he can change his feature and appears like an old man to escape from the rope. His talent doesn’t end with a paintbrush; he knows how to disguise a ship and turn it to his advantage. More than one merchant was duped, thinking he was coming near a friendly face and instead fell on Davis crew. 

“I’m aware. I thought that since we are in a shitty situation anyway we could make a little exception” answers Rackham. If sarcasm was honey it would drip on the table but Flint isn’t fooled. It sounds like Davis gave them a perfect opportunity to discuss endlessly the when of this council instead of the why.

“No need to make a decision” pacifies England. “I’m sure Captain Rackham have a good reason to gather us so. We can hear what he has to say and decide when Tom comes back.”

“We know why we are here, he wants to impose the Guthrie debt on us” accuses Bonnet.

“Please” answers Rackham “I know better than to reunite my business partners and suggest a solution they have already refused.”

“But you have another?” asks who must be Roberts. 

He is the only one Flint is not familiar with. He looks poised and detached from their talk; shares no familiarity with his peers. He seems to be even more satisfied with the irritated look on Davis face. 

“I have” confirms Rackham.

“What use is there to talk?” grumbles Bonnet. “We owe nothing to the Guthrie. We got rid of the cunt and her father; it’s not to be indebted to their family in Philadelphia.”

“Oh you got rid of her?” taunts Davis. “I didn’t see you in Nassau more than twenty days last year. Were you running from your creditors again?”

Rackham swears, tired and annoyed. This is apparently a regular situation. Davis and Bonnet keep arguing, England sometimes interfering between them, never really taking a side and often making things worse. La Bouche looks intensely bored by the ordeal while Roberts is more and more indifferent by the mess they made.

La Bouche in many ways reminds Flint of Hornigold. White hair, cunning smile and enough experience to shame them all. He also bears the air of a man tired of misbehaving children. It’s a patronizing attitude Flint never approved of. 

“They are never going to agree to anything he suggests at this table” mutters Thomas.

Flint peeks at Thomas and finds him looking displeased. It’s not the look Flint has been expecting. (The almost wonder of curiosity, the hungry need to learn more for all the pieces of the puzzle to fit.)

“What’s on your mind?” he asks just loud enough to be heard. 

“They are stalling” says Thomas between his grinding teeth.

Now that Flint is paying attention, Thomas figure is tensed and more than a little in pain. 

Not in pain, realizes Flint; Thomas is angry. Flint freezes, he lets the sound of arguments and politics fade in the background to focus entirely on his companion. He wants to touch his shoulder, just subtly enough not to impose on him or looking weak in front of their audience. It must show on his face because Thomas recoils instantly.

“Don’t” he orders. 

Flint steps back like he’s been hit.

“I…” he hesitates. All the alarm in his mind, old and new, makes him wishes for a safer place: not surrounded by enemies and in a place where they can barely talk without being spotted. “Have I upset you?”

“Yes, you could say you did.”

More than the words, the idea that he hurt Thomas makes him flinch. Of course Thomas sees him and frowns. He stands, pretending to be indifferent to their discussion and the one occurring just a few paces away. 

“Follow me” he orders, walking briskly toward the door separating from the hallway. Flint obeys, at one point he sees Thomas looking for his way; carefully Flint suggests another room, he hopes empty. 

It is a bedroom (to be fair most of the rooms in this place are bedrooms). Once they are out of sight Thomas figure sags.

“I don’t appreciate being manipulated, James.” 

Flint freezes. 

(Thomas is a quick study, of course he would figure out Flint’s plan.)

“People have taken decision for me long before I became a ward of the Empire. I hate to think you would be one of them. Next time you want something from me, I would rather you to ask. “

Flint nods in agreement. He reflects on the last weeks and how he took the habit to nudge Thomas toward one place or another. 

“I know I allowed you to take liberties” adds Thomas. “I’m not always capable of taking decision on my own.”

“I won’t do it again” protests Flint hastily. “As much as I can.”

He’s been playing the game of manipulation for so long he is not sure he can always recognize when he does it. He reflects on the night spent watching longboat running away from New Providence. He thought then than Captains and Quartermaster did nothing but impose their will on people. How good they were (both Silver and him) at it ; just use people like they were pawn on a Chess board. 

He doesn’t always understand Silver motivations; but maybe this time, he sees how it hurts the people he holds close. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Thomas suddenly sits and his pallid face worries Flint.

“Do you need…” starts Flint.

“Please stop talking” begs Thomas. He covers his eyes with a hand, hissing at the contact.

They stay still for what feels like an eternity. Flint doesn’t know what to do with himself. He can’t steps closer and risks to make Thomas more uncomfortable than he obviously already is. 

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Flint searches the room as quietly as he is capable and found a bowl. He pushes it on the cover of the bed.

“Here” he whispers. 

He waits anxiously but Thomas doesn’t move or say another word. 

(Was it too much too fast? Did he aggravate Thomas health? Or move back his recovery? Was it because of the stress? Or because he was with so many stranger in the same room? No he is usually fine when they visit town. Unless he is hiding this reaction from him? Is this the reason he refuses to be seen at night? Or is it because he has nightmare?)

“Could you bring me water?”

Thomas voice is so small he almost misses the request.

It would be too much to ask for a clean glass but Flint finds a jug pretty easily. The water is lukewarm at best and not for the first time Flint curse Nassau’s summer and the impossibility for one tall glass of cool water. 

“Can you handle it?” he asks, holding the glass close to his partner. He is cautious not to touch him against unintentionally. 

“God I hope so.”

Flint has a pretty strong opinion about what is and isn’t God’s business, but now is not the time. 

Thomas sips at the drink experimentally. Once he gets to his limit he holds back the glass with a thank you. He breathes in and out and finally decides to take his hand back to his side. 

“Better?”

“The nausea is still there” mourns Thomas. “But at least the moonlight isn’t trying to dig a hole in my head. So I suppose.”

Someone knock on the door, Flint is not fast enough to prevent them from entering. Rackham has no qualm in interrupting them either. 

“They left” he says frustrated. “I warned you it wouldn’t work.”

Flint is about to growl at him to get out and leave them for a few more minutes but Thomas outstrips him. He regained some of his composure, hiding his weaknesses behind politeness and facts.

“It’s not your strategy or the Guthrie family they have a problem with. It is the Captain Labouche.” 

“What about him? He hasn’t said a word.”

Flint turns toward Thomas.

“You said they were stalling.”

Thomas nods and winces. He eyes distrustfully the bowl and Flint so badly wants to sit on his side and help. After a while he adds that the other Captains won’t take a decision until Captain La Bouche take position either with or against the new government of Nassau.

“I would have seen it” refutes Rackham. “They have been like this for almost a month now. Albeit I will admit that they usually try to listen before starting arguing.”

“They understand that whatever their decision is, they cannot equal his influence. So they wait and expect him to take position, either with or against you. And they are getting impatient, hence the more aggressive diversion.You’ve tried to find an angle to make them concur with you. But to me Captain La Bouche motivations are not for financial or influential gain.”

“Of course not. After the people in this room, he is the most significant Captain of Nassau. He birthed a Nation of Pirates long before we did, with two of the most fearsome man this world ever bore. Besides he is probably the richest pirates alive.”

“And the oldest” adds Flint as an afterthought. 

Rackham winces. “We are not meant to age this much.”

Flint feels a bit ridiculous begrudging the honest statement, Rackham is right. Pirates should grow old. What is there left after a life full of thievery and murder? With only the memory of freedom when you are shackle in your own body, with the bitter taste of loneliness when you are pushed aside by your crew. 

(Flint never expected to.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of the chapter is a little abrupt but trust me, that is the best I could do under this circompstances. 
> 
> Take care of you.


	23. A voice that says, "I'll be here" (And "you'll be alright")

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for Hate speech !
> 
> I tried not to use slurs (no n-word btw) but it's difficult while trying to be a little bit historically compliant. Jennings is a biggot asshole (fair warning) but it helps to construct the opposition between Silver's way to built a new Nassau and the old guard. 
> 
> (I try not to make them too characatural but I'm not a professional writter so... sorry if it's too obvious.)

She should have known better. 

After the humiliation Jennings had been through, after he had to liberate his slaves, Max had foreseen retaliation. She prepared for assassination, riot; a brutish and sloppy answer to Silver’s authority. 

Unfortunately she underestimated Jennings understanding of Nassau. She shouldn’t have. After all, Jennings had been Benjamin Hornigold’s protégé for a very long time. Hornigold had been many things in his life, but patient with stupid men was not one of them. 

Three criers have been on the beach for hours, all from Jennings crew (but not notorious enough that it would be obvious), talking about their doubts and their fears. She used the same strategy once upon a time.

They don’t attract a lot of people, but if this stratagem reach the right ears this could be more dangerous than the blaze Silver is fighting. (She has no doubt they lit the fire, but without a neutral witness she won’t be able to prove it.)

She is watching them spreading their venomous words and she reasons with herself that she should not be upset by their opinion.

(They talk about how Maroons are not really human, that they are savages, beasts that God put there so they can be tamed by them. They can’t never be equals to them, it would be a disservice to them; they would not understand what to do with their freedom. They probably set the fields on fire themselves.) 

It is not the speech in itself that worries her, it is how fast it gains the audience. 

She knows all the people who stop to listen to this nonsense. Every day she listens to these people complains, real or imaginary. She solves their problems, she manages their mood to keep them satisfied with the new regime. She provides food and shelter in return for their labor. 

(It’s an endless source of fascination for Jack. Rogers had found a way to turn the volatile pirates into hardworking citizen, with less wage, more constraints that he ever offered. Now Silver can’t even afford to pay for those, so he turns them into believers, willing to build a city entirely for free.)

(Nassau’s people adapt, just like sand.)

(She understands it; she has learnt to navigate it, she has learnt there is no use trying to build foundation. That is what she does: she reads their mind and molds them toward the bigger picture.)

(She will always be the streets of Nassau.)

“It was only a matter of time before they revolt.”

She turns and finds Jack, looking like a chicken with ruffled feathers (to her never ending amusement). 

“I’m guessing they didn’t agree with your proposition” she drawls. Every day the Captains refuse to support their sailing project is a day she has to convince the former pirates not to riot.

“It was over before I received your message. Flint’s pet is under the impression it has nothing to do with the concept we are trying to sell them. It would be a power struggle to impress La Bouche.”

She has to admit the idea has merit. No negotiation should have taken this long with Jack in command. Being a victim of his will to impress La Bouche, it would be one of the few situations his wits would be ineffective. 

“Do you agree with him?” she asks carefully. 

Jack’s ego is a subject she tries not to trample on. She is aware of the conflict of interest here; but she promises herself she would never hurt Anne again. So if that means being more diplomatic with him, it is a small price to pay.

“I have to admit it’s the last explanation possible. I’ve literally tried everything else. But fuck if I know how to solve this in the next few hours. ”

“Not just a pretty face then” she muses out loud. She has to admit this little lord Flint is keeping hidden in the Mansion is still a mystery to her. 

“No, I expect he is quite another educated blue blood” spats Jack. She doesn’t blame him his judgement; he had the unfortunate business with Wood Rogers to account for (and the disastrous consequences for Anne). “What about you? I thought you had the beach under control?”

“Well it would have been easier if I had the girls on my side” she answers bitterly. “But there is nothing to do. Look at them.”

She motions toward the small crowd: they listen to the criers but they don’t shout their agreement nor their disapproval. Pirates aren’t exactly good at keeping their opinion for themselves, especially when they have an audience. 

“They do not know what to think” she explains. “Adding more information to the mix would only confuse them further.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I’m listening too, so I can answer to every argument Jennings is laying out.”

“What are they?”

She glances at him sardonically. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it. God made Men strong so why should they bow to the weakest of the lot? Brown folk were made to be enslaved and they are happy to stay in chain. Those who aren’t are abomination of nature and must be disciplined. _Long John Silver said we were all equal, but surely he didn’t mean we were equal to them_ ”

“Shit”

The words taste like ashes in her mouth. (It doesn’t matter she heard them a thousand times, it doesn’t matter she raised above them. At some point in her life, people watched her and saw her beneath them because of the colour of her skin.) (Some night she dreams about the pearl’s merchant proposing her to work at his service, she dreams about the leer in his eyes and it turns into another, crueller face.) (Sometimes Anne is here to snarl at them and defend her. It can turn into a very pleasant dream then.) (It doesn’t happen as much as she wishes.)

“I have to admit this is smart. He needs to discredit Silver before hurting him. If he attempted to his life at the moment, nobody would follow him. So he feed their many doubts, he uses Silver’s words against him:” she adds to distract herself from her thoughts. 

(She notices the irony. She didn’t use to care this much because she didn’t expect these people’s respect. Silver’s speeches might have moved her after all. She might believe him when he called them all equal.)

(It annoys her deeply.)

“They are dumb enough to believe him. Hell! More than one of them believed it not so long ago” mutters Jack. 

“Silver made very clear he would not tolerate such a hateful speech. They will not dare agree with the crier and fall into disgrace with him. They are all afraid of what he is capable.”

“And yet, are ready to do the most undignified job at his command.”

She glances at his grumpy face; it is reassuring to see that at least some things stay the same. For all the impermanence of her world Jack is always solid value. She smiles with indulgence, her relationship with him might be a little less steady than it used to be but she knows him. 

(The same way she knows Anne.)

“It is the power he held above us, above Nassau” she drawls.

They watche as the crowd swell and ebb. She feels his restlessness, his mind is racing like the wind and if she can’t guess what this is about, she knows he won’t resist the temptation of asking for her opinion.

When he eyes her for the third time she knows she is right. 

“How did that happened?” he asks a propos of nothing. “Weren’t we supposed to manipulate him and not the other way around?” 

The topic of his interrogation is not exactly a surprise (to be fair she shares Jack’s concern and interrogations).

“We were not supposed to pledge ourselves to his service. We were the one who crowd him for God sake!” growls Jack. 

Silver seemed at best disinterested with ruling Nassau when the ‘war’ they created where about to end. Choosing him was logical. He was respected and going against his name would have been suicidal. Flint had stepped down from his vendetta but nothing guaranteed at the time he wouldn’t go back on his words and restart the whole nightmare on the first occasion. Silver had been the inevitable candidate to a game Max and Jack had no control over.

Silver was only supposed to bear the title of King, never supposed to embrace it. 

“We underestimated him” she concludes. She should be more optimistic, even if it is not going according to plan, the way they envisioned it, it is working toward their goal. Not all is lost. 

They just need to account for a new, unpredictable player in the game. 

“Everybody is convinced he will succeed in governing this damn island.” 

“Not every body” she contradicts, pointing at Jennings crew.

“You know what I mean. They are an inconvenience, nothing more. Look at them” he spats showing the ambivalent crowd, “anyone but Silver and they would be ready to riot. Instead they are just curious, wondering how their glorious King is going to solve this.”

Max is starting to piece together what is making Jack so upset. 

“Including us” she says, experimenting.

“Including us!” repeats Jack, raising his hands to the sky in annoyance. “We are not supposed to believe in him. And look at us! We used to rule over this place and now we are his minion, making sure he has a throne to return to when he will be back.”

Max wasn’t aware it bothered Jack this much. She is used to do her work under disguised, but Jack had always this weird fascination with the weigh his name carried. Even if most of his career was done in supporting the most dangerous and respected name ever spoken in the West Indies, he resents doing his work for anyone but his own advancement.

Something is bugging her though. She worked besides plenty of men and one woman who called themselves the ‘Rulers of Nassau’. They held their power over her and kept her in submission; making sure her work would benefit their rule. Silver spends more time listening to the grievers than ordering her. He asks her about the state of the warehouse sometimes, when he needs to make altering decision to their former arrangement but otherwise he trusts her to manage her business. 

She also knows for a fact he doesn’t engage in the politics of the Black Sails company (Jack has complained about it long and loud enough). He leaves Jack in charge of it, even if he is going behind schedule, even if they are tight on resources. (Does he expect them to warn him if the situation becomes dire? Direr?). (Does he trust them to just deal with it?) (Whatever it is, she is sure it is not disinterest in Nassau’s future.) (If it was, she would have deposit him faster than he would’ve time to say ‘I’m the King”).

She is prevented from answering him when a dashing blond man joins them.

“M.Martin” greets Jack.

Max takes a minute to watch the newcomer. She has never seen him before but Jack obviously knows him. (She probably could guess which crew the man is part of just by watching Jack’s interaction with him. It would be a fun game; unfortunately she doesn’t have the luxury of time.)

“Again Rackham, Martin is my first name. This is M. Louis for you.”

It sounds like a long suffering conversation the two men share (a private jokes between them maybe?). 

“Louis is also a first name. I’m never going to understand you Frogs” jests Jack. “What do you want? I thought your Captain had retired for the night.”

M. Louis playfully hits Jack on the shoulder. There is only one French ship at bay during this storm season: it’s La Bouche. They have as little interaction with the island as they can, Max indulge herself in her ignorance. She has met almost every pirates here (sometimes she is still surprised with a new face). 

“He did. But he received a surprising visit.”

Jack face contorts to hide his worry (it’s a very specific crunch of nose; Max has no doubt most of his opponents have a take on it; why Jack persists in hiding what he thinks when it is still clear as daylight, she doesn’t understand).

“A very decisive visit” adds M. Louis, holding a piece of paper to Jack.

Jack takes it and reads it without delay. 

“Fucking shit!” he curses while passing the note to Max. It’s written in a messy calligraphy.

_To Capitaine Rackham,_

_You have my full support for the launching of the Black Sails Company. Do not bother calling on the children. I will see them behave before the sun rise._

_Capitaine Olivier La Bouche_

She manifests her curiosity, returning it to Jack. For what she understood his evening was quite a failure, not deserving of such an outspoken endorsement. 

“Who was it? Your late visitor.”

“I believe his name is _Monsieur_ Hamilton.”

“Flint’s little lapdog?” blurts Jack in surprise.

It makes M. Louis smiles with a strange glint in his eyes; like he is holding on a secret of great value.

“I think you misunderstood who is holding the leash, but yes.”

“Flint was here?” asks Jack suspiciously.

M. Louis nods. “He let an impression on one of the crewman. If _Monsieur_ Hamilton hadn’t interfered it could have ended ugly.”

Flint had always been a brute incapable of bending his will to anyone but Long John Silver (and now M. Hamilton it seems). Seeing Flint retire from Nassau’s politic had been both a great loss and a great relief for Max. 

(How Eleanor ever saw him as a reasonable man, Max will never comprehend.)

From Jack’s way of cringing, Max guess this could be a problem. 

She arrived in Nassau after the big names of Blackbeard, Bellamy, Hornigold and La Bouche were already a distant memory. Captain Hornigold’s feats were legendary and she only heard rumors of them (until Vane’s challenged him she never saw him anywhere but in the Fort). However she is aware of La Bouche and Hornigold renowned friendship. How La Bouche left Nassau a decade ago and never came back for reasons unknown from her sources at the time (a year or two before Eleanor’s scheme to chase Teach if Max memory serves her).

“Was it before or after he wrote the note?” asks Jack.

M. Louis smile is devilishly handsome, a little daring with quiet confidence; he keep his mouth shut and lets Jack steam in his anxiety. 

“When your King comes back, tell him I accept his invitation to meet him. I’m sure it will be a most fascinating exchange.”

The transition is so unexpected, it leaves both her and Jack at a loss for words.

(Why would Silver want to talk with La Bouche representative?)

Obviously done with his task, M. Louis takes his leave and let them to their thoughts.

“By the seven gods of the sea, what happened at La Bouche’s?” asks Jack.

Max wishes she could answer. As usual, they will have to make do with what they know. 

“How long until we can launch the first ship?” she asks trying to be practical. The crowd is still here, listening to Jennings crier. There is nothing she can do to stop them tonight.

“If Captain La Bouche fulfills his commitment” says Jack while looking at the note with doubt written all over his face “I would say, the day after tomorrow, a week if we suffer delay.”

That is a much more optimistic schedule than she expected. Her surprise must show on her face too because he scowls at her.

“I have prepared for this expedition for weeks now” he justifies, a little vexed. 

“Of course” she pacifies. She should go back to sleep, anyway, she should inform Silver and Anne about what is happening in Nassau. 

“I have drawn the contract before the beginning of the Hurricane season” he reminds her, following her as she leaves the beach back to the former brothel (they really should think about a way to repurpose the space, it’s too much for just accommodation).

“Yes” she answers, long suffering. “Sorry for ever doubting your capacity.”

She glances at Jack and can’t help but smile when she sees his smug look. 

She knows she still have a long way to regain his trust but this resemble a lot like progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me tell you next chapter is one of my most unexpected POV (hello plot bunny, nice to meet you).
> 
> Could you guess who will tell their story next ?


	24. And then I looked up at the sun and I could see (Oh the way that gravity pulls on you and me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, I will finish this fic. I never wrote so much for a story before and I intend to make this my magnus opus or whatever it is called this days.
> 
> I present to you the rabbit I chase for three weeks !!! So many plot I have to build for this, I can't wait to write the next scene... Oh wait? My inspiration is doing rollercosters. 
> 
> (I. Will. Finish. This.)

Olivier Levasseur, called La Bouche, is old. 

It’s never been more obvious than now; in the middle of the night, surrounded by youngster who wants nothing more than to impress him. 

If he was still capable, he would have found it amusing. 

Olivier is old; it means he has nothing but time. He has nothing left to do but to be overwhelmed by sentiment. He watches with indulgence as the men he groomed to be the best Pirates of their time nags like children. (He was never like Teach, he never cared about blood.)

He has assured his reputation and his progeny. He doesn’t worry about what his legacy will be.

(That the thing isn’t it? It’s not his legacy he is worried about.)

He notices when _Capitaine_ Flint and his ward leaves. It’s impossible to miss the noble air of the stranger. He is too good mannered to be anything but proper English nobility. Olivier has met quite a few of them. He is intriguing, not just because it is unusual for nobility to mix with the plebeian but because he carries Flint’s fascination like it weights nothing at all.

Olivier had the displeasure of meeting _Capitaine_ Flint, more than once. He didn’t leave him with the impression of a good and caring man. 

The first time he ever heard his name was nine years ago when he expertly plotted against Teach to chase him out of Nassau. 

Now, let it be clear, Olivier hadn’t always agreed with Teach’s methods to rule Nassau; neither did Benjamin, but in _his_ absence, Teach was the only one who wanted to be the King of this damned place.

Politics at these times were different. It was the nature of Pirates to overpower one another. You didn’t solve your problem around a table and Olivier refused to see the city he had seen come into the world turn into a slaughter. That is why, when Teach was demised, Olivier was on the other side of the Atlantic, too busy chasing a Portuguese galleon. (And what a lucrative little adventure it had been.)

The heart of the matter is: when he came back to Nassau (richest than in his wildest dream) he found it changed forever. (Again)

Benjamin had betrayed their Brotherhood and made an alliance with a new, fresh _Capitaine_ ready to take over the world. James Flint was a cold bastard, who would stop at nothing to see his goal achieved. Olivier met him and instantly hated him. (This was a man incapable of caring, with nothing left but brutality and a trenchant intellect.)

Not the kind of man who was capable of coveting another soul the way he coveted his ward. 

Olivier had given up on Nassau then (and everything he held dear), and left it on the hand of a sixteen years old girl who had more spirit than Olivier had been capable of at the time. (He had thought maybe she was the one who could be _his_ legacy. It was wrong of him to believe.)

It is sad that the girl’s name only evokes repugnance now. Eleanor was brilliant, if a little naive. 

He morbidly wonders if she was just as hurt as Teach when Benjamin turned on her. Benjamin never accepted to be compared to them and assessed as second best. He always wanted to be the first of them: the richest, the strongest and the most famous. 

(They should have known better than to trust him.)

(If _he_ had lived, would Benjamin had betrayed _him_ too?)

 _Capitaine_ Rackham doesn’t seem to care about their departure. He does his very best to reclaim the leadership of their little meeting. Olivier admires the boy’s perseverance. It’s been weeks since the constitution of Nassau’s second council of _Capitaine_ and he has done more heavy-lifting than any of them. 

Olivier should feel bad to hold on his plan. It is a good plan, mostly. 

He never meant to be part of the Council, but to his credit, when he landed on Nassau’s beach he did not expect to find a newly born government, birthed by a wimp in calico and a whore who rose from her status. 

He did not expect a King who could barely stands on his own leg; so exhausted he could barely make a decision without convening with his advisors. A man with just enough pride not to let other, more competent minds, rule the island. A man who conquered not by force but by selling to the unsuspecting crowd an unreachable dream. 

(Nine years since his last visit to Nassau.) 

(He had refused to come back to the only place he called home.)

(Only to be fooled by misleading stories.)

(He is terribly ashamed to admit he felt hopeful.)

He is tired of this game. He is an old man with nothing but time to remember old memories and shackled with an impossible obligation. 

Olivier has studied all of them. Pirates like Rackham who refuses to give up no matter what. Pirates likes Flint who are still capable of change. Pirates like Davis who can shapeshift a ship like a woman changes a dres. Pirates like England capable of befriending even the most unsympathetic person.

He deemed none of them worthy of receiving _his_ legacy. Least of them, Long John Silver.

He calls the end of the meeting. He is no longer in the mood to indulge _Capitaine_ Rackham little play. Olivier leaves the premises alone, eager to go back to his bed. 

(Maybe tomorrow will be the day he won’t wake up.)

(Maybe tomorrow will be the day he fails his duty.)

The night is warm (it’s always warm in Nassau but Olivier has always wondered why Madagascar scorching sun was so different from New Providence’s). His Quartermaster comes and helps him in his night shirt. If he didn’t consider Martin like his son it would be humiliating. 

_Another one? You collect strays and call them sons, you shouldn’t expect them to treat you like a father. Only the bonds of blood are strong enough._

He brushes past the mocking voice of his ghost. He has learnt to ignore their voices; he has learnt to carry on. He had to. Besides, Teach can go fuck himself; Olivier is the last man standing. It means his opinion on the matter was clearly superior.

(It’s not true. If it was, _he_ would not have drown.)

“You might need to leave earlier than schedule” he warns him.

“We’ll leave whenever you are ready sir.”

“No you won’t” he says while slapping the top of his head. “The second this place is more dangerous than sailing in the storm you are out.”

Martin sends him a mean look. “I’m not leaving you behind, old man.”

It’s nice to think Teach was wrong about some things after all. Even if his voice still haunt him now and again.

“Têtu comme une mule, voilà ce que tu es!”

« J’ai appris du meilleur. »

Olivier burst of laughter is completely accidental but it pleases his son. He will make a good _Capitaine_ once he realises he must follow his head instead of his heart.

(He hopes his lesson will be less painful than Olivier’s.)

Gauthier knocks on the door (Martin’s matelot share little joy in their good night banter, but he is never too far in case he is needed.)

“On veut vous voir” he announces. 

Gauthier never took on the crew’s habit to speak English even among French speaker. 

“Le Capitaine s’est retiré pour la soirée” answers Martin, irritated.

“Oui, je sais. Mais il est très insistant et il ne porte pas d’arme. Il dit qu’il veut juste poser une question.”

It is probably one of the most disturbing change he witnessed on Nassau. Even when _he_ was King, every pirates hold on their weapons like a lucky charm; they hold onto the feeling of safety they provided. 

He expects _Capitaine_ Rackham, to plead for his consent on his last idea or _Capitaine_ Flint to try to intimidate him. He does not expect the English Lord on his threshold.

“Goodnight” he says amiably. “My name is Thomas Hamilton. I’m sorry to interrupt your rest, but I would like to talk to you for a minute. If you would be so kind.”

Olivier has to admit he is a very polite lad, even if he visits at a very improper hour. Olivier notices Flint hasn’t joined him. It is a surprise he would not shadow the lord, it seemed unwise to leave such an innocent soul alone roaming Nassau.

“Your guard dog isn’t with you?”

“James is otherwise engaged.”

Olivier’s curiosity is picked. He motions the newcomer toward a reading chair in front of the unlit fireplace, the boy look ready to keel over at the first wind. He sends Gauthier and Martin away; he knows they won’t go further than behind the door, just far enough to give them the illusion of privacy. 

Olivier had the privilege of living a long life, he has met many folks, from many station. Eventually he figured out that if you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people. He has met the desperate, the vicious, the victorious, the looser, the opportunistic, the honourable, the victim. 

The holder of secret.

“You said you have a question” he states.

 _Monsieur_ Hamilton doesn’t relax in the comfortable chair. He looks pensive and maybe a little worried. It would only be natural, lords and pirates met on rare occasion, none of them happy. 

“Yes I do. It’s a simple question, even if I suspect the answer will be more complicated.”

Olivier snorts and allows his guest to continue. _Monsieur_ Hamilton watch him with attention, he doesn’t show his nerves. 

“Why are you in Nassau?” he asks.

It is not exactly a surprising question, but it is a daring one. Olivier lets himself be impressed by his confidence.

However he lived too long to trust a stranger in his house; especially one who would associate with _Capitaine_ Flint. _Monsieur_ Hamilton has a secret (or maybe he held on to a secret for so long it embed in his eyes).

He stands from his chair and serves himself and his guest a glass of water. Gauthier ferreted out a crystal carafe on their last loot and offered it to Martin (who passed it to him). The water is clear and even if it’s not fresh, it doesn’t taste like mud. 

(Olivier learnt to enjoy the small pleasure of life.)

“Did you know, sea turtles return to their birthplace after years away?” he asks while holding the glass to _Monsieur_ Hamilton.

Secrets are dangerous affairs. They tend to be discovered sooner or later. Olivier never tried to hide the reason of his return. 

“Fascinating creatures. They would rather swim for thousands of miles instead of staying their whole life in a place they don’t know.”

He rests his weight on the mantel, searching for the proper words and arranging his thoughts.

“One would think it the contrary. If you know in advance where to find you, it is only a matter of time until you get hunted.” 

He told Martin naturally, Olivier might still be a _Capitaine_ in name but he still needs to account his decisions to his Quartermaster. He convinced him to cross the Atlantic, his last journey as a _Capitaine_.

He told him, in no equivocal terms he was planning on staying in Nassau until the day he dies. Of course his fool of a boy refused to listen.   
He couldn’t tell him the whole story. There are some memories he wasn’t ready to revisit at the time. Now that he has landed in Nassau, they keep blowing in his face.

“So this is the place you were born then?” asks _Monsieur_ Hamilton, genuinely interested. 

Olivier smiles indulgently and hums. Martin bores easily with his metaphor; it is refreshing once in a while to converse with someone who understands the pleasure of figurative expressions instead of direct approaches.

“A difficult place to call home. Wouldn’t you say?” answers Olivier.

 _Monsieur_ Hamilton looks suddenly extremely tired. 

“Most places are difficult when your home is taken away from you.”

Olivier’s smile disappears under the weight of his ghosts. _Monsieur_ Hamilton looks pale in the light of the candles and lost with his own demons.

“If anything, Nassau is where a piece of mine was given back. Under these circumstances I can’t resent the place” he says absent-mindedly.  
It takes a minute to recognize the look on Thomas Hamilton eyes: he doesn’t pity him or judge him. Somehow there is a kinship between them (of loss).

“I didn’t have this privilege” admits Olivier. “I can even say, this is the place where our dream ended.”

(The clear blue sky on an august day. The beginning of a secret he will never be able to release. The brown eyes looking at him with utter confidence in the future.)

“Yet, here you are.”

They watch each other for a long moment, basking in the singular similarities they share.

“I built this place, did you know?”

It’s a story he used to tell often (it used to be what he was the most proud of). 

“An incredible feat” comments _Monsieur_ Hamilton quietly.

“I wasn’t alone of course.”

(Once upon a time, there was one privateer, the son of a carpenter and a British navy deserter. They rebelled against their orders and found a place to be safe of their enemies. One day they were joined by a man, just out of boyhood. He made this place a home, so they crowned him.)

(He is the last of them.)

(Sometimes their ghosts walk by his side.)

(They used to have so many dreams.)

“We thought ourselves invincible; hunted the most legendary treasures ever found in the Atlantic Ocean; sacrificed years of our lives to create a place where no Empire would find us and where none of our own would hang. We shaped the next generation of pirates so they could roam free into this world.”

They were Kings in their own way. Until that fateful day where _he_ died.

“What changed?”

“We lost something precious. Something irreplaceable.”

He remembers Teach anger when he heard about the wreck, he remembers Benjamin insistence they had to fortify the island and he remembers how Nassau was crawling with agitation when they heard their King died; to something as common as a reef. 

(It’s a fragile balance between faith and ideals. If the one man who incarnates it dies, then it is almost impossible to reassemble the shambles.) 

(He remembers Teach madness before he raided Boston, his thirst for revenge when he saw the bodies of their friends hanged.)

(He remembers it is when Benjamin became more aloof, considering his own goal instead of their Brotherhood.)

“I’m sorry.”

Olivier cannot forget his friends fighting for a crown that wasn’t theirs, he left the day after Teach’s proclamation. He couldn’t bare the sight. 

(He swore to himself he would never set foot on New Providence ever again.)

“It was a different time” he finally says; coming back to himself, to the warm night and his late guest.

He gulps his water. 

“You ask why I am here?” he reminds himself. “Why I am in Nassau? Let’s call it professional curiosity.”

The sense of vulnerability that tainted his words gradually disappears. Olivier doesn’t doubt that _Monsieur_ Hamilton is a skilled politician, he picks up on the change instantly, straightening and looking a lot less open. 

(Also a lot paler for some reason.)

A muffled sound interrupts them.

“No, you can’t enter” protests Martin on the other side of the door.

 _Monsieur_ Hamilton visibly winces. Olivier is about to draw his pistol when _Capitaine_ Flint barges into the room. He barely glances at Olivier and focus on _Monsieur_ Hamilton. He pushes forward him, a relieved streak in his shoulders.

“I am fine” says the English lord, annoyed (and if Olivier pays close attention, a little wobbly.) It seems that _Monsieur_ Hamilton had escaped his guardian.

“Yes, obviously” answers _Capitaine_ Flint bitterly. 

Three gunmen joins the chaos, pistols at the ready; Gauthier among them harboring a bloody nose. _Capitaine_ Flint steps in direct interception with their firing line (to better protect _Monsieur_ Hamilton, notices Olivier) and, in the poorest show of diplomacy Olivier ever witnessed, shows his teeth in threat.

“I didn’t come to fight” he growls.

“You could have fooled me” answers Olivier but he nods toward his guards to lower their weapons. “I have been delighted to have _Monsieur_ Hamilton as my guest. As you can see he is unscathed by the ordeal.” 

_Capitaine_ Flint keeps eying the armed men, Olivier admits he is curious to know where Martin is. He has no doubt Gauthier would be a lot bloodier if _Capitaine_ Flint had hurt him.

“You seem to have made an impression on Gauthier” deadpans Olivier. “With your usual finesse.”

“He refused to move out of my way. I was in a hurry.”

“Jesus, James” curses _Monsieur_ Hamilton. 

“Jennings has organized rallies to convince the townspeople that the fires were done by the free folk. We do not know who’s allied to him yet.”  
Gauthier hisses at the insinuation. Olivier mainly smiles at the irony.

“Loyalty is a strange thing, is it not?” he says conversationally. “One day you embrace it, the next you throw it away like cheap linen.”

“If this is revenge you want” starts _Capitaine_ Flint.

 _Monsieur_ Hamilton protests vigorously. 

“Lord, but you put a new definition on overreaction. I came to Captain La Bouche in friendship and I intend to leave in the same state. You have no evidence Captain Jennings has allied to another Captain, let alone Captain La Bouche.”

This get to at least calm down the red hair fury, even if he doesn’t appreciate the turn of event, as his thunderous face shows. 

“There is no love lost between my crew and _Capitaine_ Jennings’s” says Olivier in a gesture of peace. “I do not appreciate trouble makers” he adds pointedly at _Capitaine_ Flint. 

Martin comes in, joined by _Docteur_ Dupont. Martin eyes carefully _Capitaine_ Flint before directing _Docteur_ Dupont toward Gauthier’s tense figure.

(Martin has always been quick on his feet.)

“Should I treat the other gentleman too?” asks _Docteur_ Dupont in a heavily accented English, pointing at _Monsieur_ Hamilton.

Now that it has been brought to his attention, Olivier’s guest is looking weaker by the minute: sweating and more than a little nauseous.

“I am fine” repeats the English lord. 

_Capitaine_ Flint steps closer to him (it would be suicidal to try to step between him and _Monsieur_ Hamilton. Olivier is not petty enough to tempt fate.)

(This would definitely answer Olivier’s interrogations about _Capitaine_ ’s Flint level of bestiality when prompted.)

(Well, _Monsieur_ Hamilton has been nothing but polite since he arrived. Olivier doesn’t want to embarrass him further.)

(Contrary to popular opinion, Pirates aren’t savages.)

“It’s not broken” notes _Docteur_ Dupont. Martin nods in relief. 

“ _Parfait_! Than you shall get ready to escort those gentlemen out.” 

“I see we’ve overstepped our welcome” says _Monsieur_ Hamilton.

“Before you depart I have a question occurred to me. You’ve heard my story, or part of it at least. You came here tonight to convince me to join your endeavor even though you are aware I am not satisfied with the outcome. What made you think you would succeed?”

 _Capitaine_ Flint bristles but stays otherwise silent, showing a surprising amount of restraint. Olivier would have thought he would jump at the barely concealed shade.

“Nothing.”

 _Monsieur_ Hamilton stands carefully, holding his hand for _Capitaine_ Flint to take, at his greatest shock.

(Olivier ignores the deep breaths he takes and the little sway. Acknowledging the man’s powerlessness of the body would be a terrible insult.)

“But what kind of man would I be if I didn’t try to pursuit a better world?”

They disappear in the night, painful step after painful step. Olivier’s house is in disarray and more than one member of his crew is awake. 

“You okay old man?” asks Martin. 

Olivier isn’t sure. The whole discussion sounds off to him. The slight accusation under _Monsieur_ Hamilton parting words stings in a way he didn’t expect. 

It’s innocent enough. It shouldn’t bug him.

Except for the past month he has done nothing but to recall his past life.

(The clear blue sky on an august day. The laugh they share as they lie down on the sand, watching the time pass; unaware of the ineluctability of death.)

_”One day Olivier, long after I’ll be gone; I want to have a legacy of my own. I don’t want to be known as a fool or a dreamer._

(He wants to follow this man to the edge of the world.)

_” Just a man who tried to make the world a little more bearable.”_

Olivier finally allows himself to sit. He considers his own hands for a moment, Martin faithfully waiting for his answer.

“I need you to deliver a mail, if you don’t mind, my boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French translation  
> “Têtu comme une mule, voilà ce que tu es!” - Stubborn as a mule, that is what you are !  
> "J’ai appris du meilleur." - I learnt from the best  
> “On veut vous voir” - Someone want to talk to you  
> “Le Capitaine s’est retiré pour la soirée” - The Captain is unavailable for the night  
> “Oui, je sais. Mais il est très insistant et il ne porte pas d’arme. Il dit qu’il veut juste poser une question.” - Yes I know, but the man is very annoying and carries no weapon. He said he came just to ask a question.  
> “Parfait” - Perfect


	25. I came here to get some peace (Way down deep where the shadows are heavy )

Thomas hasn’t waken up since yesterday night. 

After they returned from La Bouche’s place, they received the good and unexpected news from Rackham. Flint made sure to warn Silver instantly. 

Then, under Flint horrified eyes, Thomas has fallen down and slept like the dead. 

With great difficulties he lied him down on his bed and decided to let him rest. (How Silver manages the stairs daily with only one leg, Flint doesn’t know.)

He had kept watch over Thomas, as he gradually became a mess of sweaty, trembling shape then came back to a more quiet sleep. 

Since then, he had been anxiously waiting for Thomas to wake up. 

That’s why he is surprised when he hears Silver swears loudly from across the wall; surprised because he didn’t hear him come back.

He stands from his guarding station and follows the sound until their bedroom where he is welcomed by a troubling sight. Silver is sitting on the bed, trying and failing to get off his shirt; his bloody shirt.

“Jesus” he says before he can stop himself. “What the fuck happened to you?”

Silver instantly turns to face him, he winces in pain and growls another curse.

“Oh that’s just great” he breathes.

He looks like he is coming back from the ninth circle of Hell. He is filthy beyond measure, covered in soot, dirt and blood. 

“Would you…” starts Silver, motioning his hand toward the other side of the bed so he doesn’t have to contort his back to face him. In two steps Flint join him, both worried and angry.  
“Could we not do this right now?” pleads Silver. “I had a difficult day. Let’s keep the thunderstorm for tomorrow morning at least. Please.”

Flint considers his answer; waiting until the morning means Silver will have more time to prepare his arguments and convince him what he did was necessary. Whatever happened.  
Flint would have to keep his temper in check (his justified temper, thank you very much). 

But Silver looks miserable and it would be cruel to interrogate him now. 

“Fine” he concedes. “Let me help.”

He goes to remove the offensive piece of cloth but is stopped by Silver’s surprisingly strong hold on his wrist. 

“Promise you won’t ask question until tomorrow.”

It’s been a while since he’s been pinned down by Silver’s stare. It’s when he understands how serious this is.

“I won’t” he promises.

Silver lets him go and mellows. He nods tiredly.

“I think it dried on the skin.”

Flint swears but it seems the diagnostic is correct. If he wants to make sure Silver doesn’t die of infection during the night, he needs to clean his back and that mean he is going to need supplies. 

“Take off your boot, I’ll fetch the alcohol.”

“Great” deadpans Silver.

Flint carries the medical gear back into the room, along with a needle and some thread in case Silver needs to be sued. He is no Dr Howell but he can manage if the wounds are small enough. He makes a second trip to get a rough sheet and a bucket of water from the kitchen, and bring them back with a wash cloth. 

“Get up” he orders.

Silver obeys without protesting. 

(Flint won’t admit it terrifies him.)

(But at least there is no obvious muscle damage.)

(He wouldn’t be so agile. It means what happened was aimed purely to inflict pain.)

He sets the sheet over their clean linen and maneuvers Silver back to him, sitting more comfortably.

“This is going to hurt” he warns.

“You think?”

With quick and precise moves Flint rips the shirt apart from the skin. Now that he can watch closer he sees the blood splatters aren’t lined like they would be if made by a whip. They are round, small, congregating horizontally. It’s not only blood; amidst the dust and the soot, Flint recognizes trace of ink too. 

He has a good idea of what’s waiting for him when the shirt is finally off. 

“Jesus” swears Silver in relief.

Flint wants to echo the feeling. Silver back is covered in script, too messy to be read. But to Flint, who is so used to blocky letter, he can recognize the words pattern. He takes a moment to breath in his anger. 

“I need a bath” growls Silver after too long. 

“No. You need to keep this out of steep water for a while.”

“I need to wash” protests Silver, but it is only half hearted. 

Flint dips the wash cloth in the bucket and softly, carefully he wipes Silver back.

It’s a statement to Silver’s exhaustion that he doesn’t fidget much. It doesn’t take long for the water to turn red. Flint changes it and comes back from the kitchen with a jar. Silver eyes him, curious about its content. 

“Coconut oil” explains Flint. “It ain’t going to be comfortable but it will help.”

Silver snorts, as if the very idea of comfort is a joke to him. He lets Flint clean him (like you would clean a dead man, almost wimp with fatigue), he allows him to rub his wound with oil without a word. 

The room is dark and the only light comes from the finishing candles. Night is about to fall. After a moment, the words looks clear enough for Flint to read them. He reads promises of light and freedom, he sees the reassurance of warmth and discovery even in the dark. 

His fingers linger on more than one occasion, struck speechless by their familiarity. 

He covers them with bandage and it gets himself out of a trance. 

“Can you breathe?” he asks

“No, but it has nothing to do with your wrapping.”

Silver has kept mostly quiet and even if Flint hasn’t heard him cough, he knows his voice is rougher than usual. Even his breathing is more of a hiss. 

“You need to rest” he settles. He cleans the bed from the clutter and finds a clean shirt for Silver to wear. The bleeding was sluggish at best; it shouldn’t stain it.

He strips the bed of his protective layer while Silver contorts his body in the shirt. Then he gets himself into the bed. It’s not night yet but he is beaten too. 

Silver eyes the bed with distrust, looking how he is going to fit with his back hurt. 

Finally he hops into the bed on his belly.

(Too far away for Flint’s taste but he won’t protest. Silver needs to rest.)

(This is ridiculous.)

(He can survive without any of his partners welcoming his touch.)

(He will give them what they need.)

(And right now they need him to stay far away.)

“Shit” swears Silver. 

He wriggles out of the cover. He waits for a minute then swears again.

Flint feels him crawling closer to him, trembling.

“Isn’t it supposed to be summer? Why is this place so cold?”

Flint doesn’t point out the almost suffocating heat, the closed windows to keep a little bit of chill inside. He takes Silver’s hand and nudges him close enough to share his body heat (but not enough to touch.).

It seems to be enough for a moment; until Silver finally overruns his reservations and climbs him; rests more than half of his weigh on his chest, his stump nestles between Flint’s leg, his nose on his collarbone. 

(Has they ever been so close before?)

(Flint doesn’t dare let go of his hand.)

His hair smells like fire and sweat. Silver trembling is still keeping him awake but he is starting to relax. His breathing slows, he stops fidgeting.

(Maybe he is breathing him in, just like Flint is.)

(It is a rare moment of respite.)

“I’m sorry I lied” whispers Silver unexpectedly, barely loud enough to be heard. “About being careful” he adds (like he has multiple lies he is not ready to apologize for).

It’s not a conversation Flint wants to have now, when they are finally reunited, while he can’t watch Silver’s expressions. 

He hums non-committally.

“How is Thomas?” asks Silver when he doesn’t get his answer. 

Flint tries not to flinch; Silver interest in Thomas well-being is, from experience, almost always a way to deflect Flint’s affection. 

Entwine as they are, Flint will give him the benefit of the doubt. 

“He spends las night negotiating a deal with La Bouche.”

Silver makes a curious sound. 

“I think it was too much too fast for him. He is resting now.”

“You are using your guilty voice, why?”

Even when he is half asleep and probably delirious with pain (Flint has no other explanation for their proximity), Silver is a perceptive little shit.

“It was my idea” he confesses. 

“You sent him to La Bouche?” asks Silver surprised. 

“No.” protests Flint. “He went on his own. But I set him up to help Rackham with the Council, even though he wasn’t ready.”

Silves hums, it’s difficult to see if he is amused or scorning. 

“He has balls.”

Amusement then. They shift slowly, slightly so Silver’s head is pillowed on his shoulder.

“He will be fine” reassures Silver. 

“You don’t know that?

“He’s been through Hell and back,” reasons Silver. “Alone. It will take more to defeat him.”

Flint is unconvinced but he doesn’t wish to argue further. These two men will be the death of him. 

(And he will let them, gladly. If it means they are happy and alive.)

“You are comfortable” murmurs Silver.

Flint is not fooled by the ridiculous statement. He knows how false this is, contort as Silver is, he is anything but comfortable. But if this is what he needs, Flint won’t protest. 

(To be fair, he would not trade his place for anything, even hot and crushed by Silver’s weight.)

(Okay he would trade for Thomas’ shape joining them by his side.)

(Maybe Miranda’s too.)

He hears Silver’s breathing deepening, falling asleep; Flint is not far behind. 

It doesn’t take him long to dream of the jungle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet mother ! At last some fluff (with some hurt!Silver there too)
> 
> I found the last couple of chapter to be the hardest I ever wrote and don't get me started at the narrative disaster I created. 
> 
> My updating schedule is dead. I will do my very best to keep it to once a week.
> 
> Thank you to my very loyal reader.


	26. We go where no one goes We slow for no one (Get out of our way!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for homophobic talk (or Rackham being a little shit about Flint)

“I’m just saying I won’t take my crew through a storm. If you want me to be part of this you will damn wait for another week.”

John is ready for murder. He is. 

His headache is not helping at all. 

After Captain La Bouche took a more active position in their Council, they finally agreed on Captain Jack Rackham terms with a minimum of fuss. 

Just to refuse to engage their flotilla at the first sign of trouble.

“I thought we agreed the situation was dire enough for you to take your part of responsibility” reminds Captain Rackham. John respects his self-control and his diplomacy. He would have never stayed so calm after hours of debate which fatally end in a refusal.

“I’m not crazy, sailing by a storm… I would lose my Captaincy quicker than a wind gust.”

The fact that Davis is the one leading the charge is not helping matters. 

John knows for a fact Davis is not an idiot but his plaintive tone annoys him. Davis always cared too much about losing his Captaincy to do anything greater than fool merchant ships.   
(Even if he is brilliant at it. He has the most devious mind John has ever met.)

The problem is, besides that John hates agreeing with Davis, nobody is foolish enough to sails in the storm seasons, even if they are near the end. Even the most fearless pirates would not dare risk his ship and his crew just to save a week on his path.

“Flint did it.”

(Except apparently someone is.)

The elusive Captain Flint; since he landed on Nassau’s port, John has heard a lot about him. The mention of his name makes all the other Captain reacts in disgust, the seamen and townspeople cower in fear. John heard the most ridiculous rumors about him seducing King Long John Silver so he could whisper poison into his ear.

He also heard he is the best damn Captain who ever sailed the West Indies. 

It’s unclear to John why Captain Flint is not part of the Council, even if he is allowed to watch them occasionally with his guest (another mystery) as if they are an entertainment.

“Then ask him to do your dirty work for you. I’ll sail when the wind are suitable. Not a moment sooner.”

It is a public secret Flint wants nothing to do with the Black Sails Company. He lives as a recluse who with Long John Silver and the Englishman (John never really caught his name, and to be perfectly honest, doesn’t really care).

The debate intensifies and John gets unexpectedly annoyed by the arguments. They are not wrong, but what is the point of all of this if nobody is ready to take a risk. 

On the spur of the moment he shouts “I’ll do it.”

He can almost feel Davis’s teeth rattling when he stopped complaining. Captain Rackham eyes him suspiciously, all heads turns toward him but John has been under scrutiny his whole life. He is prepared to withhold their judgement. 

Of course Davis instantly start to protest, listing the danger of getting out of the port with the ship frame still sunk in the bay, the traitorous winds and the high probability of twisters… John ignores him and stares back at Captain Rackham; he is the only man he needs to convince today. 

“Don’t think I don’t appreciate it, but you are not experienced enough to make the trip” pacifies Captain Rackham. 

John stares at the other Captains with disinterest.

“You don’t seem to have the luxury of choice”

Captain Rackham winces but considers his proposal with more seriousness. 

“You have balls, I will admit” he smiles. “This is not a simple hunt. You are too wet.”

John doesn’t need to prove anything; he never wanted to be a Captain in the first place. But Fate has put him on this island, where freedom seems to be more than a word; It has given him his crew and he is damn proud of them. So he will take this task and achieve it better than any of these cowards. 

“You said Captain Flint made it before” he starts with a dark tone. “What makes him so special he succeeded? “ 

His question is answered with silence. “Listen kid, in this Ocean, storms have killed more seamen then Red coat or scurvy” reasons Davis. John buries the knee jerk reaction against the patronizing answer. He doesn’t need to make more enemies here. 

(Next time someone calls Kid, he might shot them a bullet in the kneecap.)

(It seems to be the only way to communicate around here.)

“Flint is a madman” adds Captain England, “no one can do what he did.”

John hasn’t been a Captain of Nassau for long but even he knows that for someone like Captain England, who is known to befriend every living soul, this is a grave accusation.

“Then let me convince him to part of my crew for the journey, I gather it would favour our enterprise’s success” insists John. 

On the other side of the table Captain La Bouche starts to laugh.

“Why would you like to sails with this tyrant?” growls Captain England. 

Having Captain Flint on board the expedition would increase the probability of success. If he can’t convince the man to come aboard the _Fortune_ , he could extract the navigation details.

John hates doing something crazy without being properly prepared.

Captain Rackham hesitates, almost convinced. If John could push just a little further…

“I don’t need your permission to sail” he states. “Only the contract.”

“Suit yourself.”

John nods in appreciation; just because he hates how they don’t take him seriously doesn’t mean he can forget about his good manners. He ignores Davis protests and starts calculating what he needs for the journey. He will need to confer with M. Jacobs to see if the crew needs more. 

“Meeting is adjourned. Thank you for your cooperation gentlemen” sneers Captain Rackham.

(It’s a miracle pirates managed to stay alive for so long when they are so disorganized.)

Captain Rackham subtly stops him from leaving and they wait until all other Captain leave the room.

“Don’t expect much from Flint. For all intend and purpose, he has retired from the pirate life. And enjoys his new role as doting wife.”

John ignores the slight, no one here is exempted from salacious or scandalous rumours. John himself feels like his existence is very dull with how few stories spread about him. 

“I can still borrow his logs. Such a feat he must have recorded.

“Who knows what Flint does and why he does it.”

“I have heard on good authority Long John Silver is a reliable source of intelligence on the matter.”

Captain Jack pours two glasses of a translucent liquid, John still can’t recognize if it is water or rum. Before the shortage of alcohol pirates enjoyed both of them with equal fervour and in equal amount. He sniffs it when Captain Rackham’s offers him the drink. Water. It amuses Captain Rackham who drains his glass in one gulp. He serves himself another one.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

John takes a sip.

“You are the one who stress the dire situation is.”

Captain Rackham frowns and sits down on his chair. He looks more upset and thoughtful than John as ever seen. 

“Our contact in Philadelphia has expressed the will to start commerce with New York. The trip would be an easy one if one of the terms of the contract wasn’t to keep out of the regular trading routes.”

“Why? I thought the purpose of this enterprise was to become a legitimate part of the world.”

“Don’t be daft. Who would employ people whom stole for a leaving for years if they hadn’t something to hide?” admonished Captain Rackham. “While it is not strictly forbidden by the English Crown, the colonies don’t have explicit permission to trade with each other either. Our customer believes it is a stupid hindrance slowing down progress. I may have implied that they could use our _expertise_ at using unusual routes. If we succeed this, they assure we could start a profitable business, exclusive contracts, for years.”

John has to admit he is a little impressed. Captain Rackham must have known the need for inter-colony trade before he started approaching potential clients. He understood exactly what these people needed and brought them a perfect solution. Besides, if they got caught, the traders would deny ever employing pirates. The loss of goods would be bad, but they would never lose their reputation. 

It was very clever indeed. 

“I was rooting for Captain England, he’s one of the Philadelphian fellows; he would have known all the charts of the area like he knows his own ship.”

John gets annoyed again.

“You got me” he reminds. 

“And I will have to learn to work with this. Here.”

He holds a piece of paper, the contract John’s presume.

“Prepare your ship, talk to Flint. Squeeze him from all the details you need. If you survive this, you might survive the storms.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another OC 
> 
> One I called "Plot bunny extravaganza"  
> Because apparently I'm stuck with them, so the least I could do is write it.


	27. If you stand for nothing (then what do you fall for)

He wakes up shivering and ready to shout. 

His leg is burning. He can almost feel the ghost of the handsaw cutting through the flesh. He can definitely feel the hands keeping him pinned to the wooden table. He wants to trash, he wants to fight. 

_Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you now._

Bile burns his throat and makes him throw up.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts.

When he finally manages to get his muscles under control, when he can make the difference between reality and memories, when his leg is just a dull pain (not strong enough to warrant his whole attention) he realises two things: Flint isn’t there with him, Thomas however is.

Flint decided to visit the new Captain’s ship before his departure to Philadelphia, to make sure the rigging can undertake a storm. 

“What are you doing here?” he snarls at Thomas. 

Of course it’s not Thomas fault if he is in a foul mood. He is sweaty and sore, the last thing he wants is someone to witness his pathetic attempt at being alive.

Not that Thomas looks any better. Shit, but they both look like Death chewed them and spat them on this forsaken island; and yet, Thomas worries for him, hovers awkwardly around the bed.

“Are you all right?”

“It’s none of your business” hisses Silver.

Thomas doesn’t leave. Silver is way too tired to fight him, he wants… (does he even knows what he wants?)

(Does he really want to be left alone?)

“Should I fetch a doctor?”

“Shit no” he breathes out.

Since Dr Howell’s death on the Walrus Silver has refused to meet with any charlatans who called themselves doctors. Fremah is the only one he trusted with his lump.

(No, it’s a lie. Madi was the one he trusted.)

“Can I help?”

“Can you make my leg go back to what it was?” asks Silver venomously. (Shit, why is he such a dick to the man who is genuinely trying to help him?) “Sorry”

It’s probably the hands. (He can still feel them; ghosts pressing against his skin.) His back is burning, the ink still sluggishly healing. Flint said it should be done in a month or so. Until then he is not allowed to scratch or bathe or do anything that could cause an infection. 

“Water” croaks Silver. He can’t gather enough energy to put it in a sentence. He needs to sit, he needs to move. He can’t stay here in the middle of drench sheets, whatever the pain, he needs to move on. (Not run, never again.)

When Thomas comes back with a pitcher and a terracotta glass, he has managed to sit on the edge of the bed, chased the white spot in front of his eyes and got rid of the wet nightshirt. 

He waits as Thomas lingers close, but never enough to be in gripping distance. Silver noticed how reticent Thomas is with his touch. He doesn’t know why; from what he gathered the plantation was not a place where corporal punishments were commonplace. Could be from elsewhere, could be that he always was uncomfortable around touch. Right now, Silver doesn’t care enough to ask. 

“Just put it down” he growls, but they both know it’s without real threat.

“I’ll draw a bath” says Thomas as he steps back into a safe distance.

“Don’t bother” 

The water is forever warm, curse of living in the Bahamas Silver supposes. It is refreshing all the same. His parched throat is thankful for the reprieve and his mind finally clears from the nightmares. He washes the taste of bile on his mouth and finally notices how he avoided his only boot in his sickness. At least, there is that.

“Don’t think I don’t appreciate the thought” he comments. “I was told I’m not a very good patient.”

Thomas smiles in commiseration. 

“Does it happen often?” he asks after a long silence. So long in fact, Silver let his guard down, deep into his thoughts.

His first instinct is to lie. 

(He needs to hide, to run, to make sure he is never really known.)

(It’s his only way to survive.)

“It’s not the first time” he admits grudgingly.

“Does James know about this?”

What good would it do if Flint knew? It’s not like he can make the pain go away.

(Maybe Silver can only have a good night sleep when he plasters himself against Flint.)

(Maybe feeling Flint’s breath under him makes him calmer.)

(He has never been above lying to himself.)

(Flint is good at not pushing his boundaries. If Silver doesn’t focus too much it almost feel like he doesn’t care.)

(Except Flint always cares. Even when he shouldn’t.)

The silence seems to speak for itself. Thomas grumbles something under his breath that Silver doesn’t get. 

“He knows I’m taking care of it” he doesn’t know why he feels the need to defend Flint.

“Obviously” sneers Thomas.

“Well you are not exactly an open book either.”

He regrets his words as soon as they left his mouth. Thomas looks like he has been slap (Flint is going to murder him). 

They look at each other, carefully weighting their next words. Silver wishes he could apologize but even if he lost his temper, he is not wrong. 

Why is it so difficult to say the truth? Why can’t he just say he hurts?

(He was alone for a lot longer than with friends. If he runs he doesn’t see the disdain in their face, if he hides they don’t try to take advantage of him. He never had someone to watch his back before.)

(Or if he did, he was careful to stab them first.)

Thomas sits on his side and somehow, as they can’t stare at each other it is easier to talk. 

“I’m trying” he admits. “Words are difficult. Writing and reading is excruciating. Everything was so shapeless for so long; I forgot what it is supposed to feel like: interacting with the world.”

Silver listens intently; for all his privileged treatment Thomas has been discarded for a decade, without friends, without any kind of human connection. From what Amara told him, even the Marron were together in their misery. Some were isolated, punished beyond words. Madi and the Queen probably faced the same issue; Pirates seldom deal with solitude, it is the nature of their community. 

"I didn't realise how much I forgot."

It’s been a long time since Silver ever wanted to talk about him; not his past, but the boiling mess a more pious man would call his soul.

(He will never be able to make sense of his past anyway; he hasn’t lied to Flint on that dune.)

(He can never lie to Flint. Not for long anyway.)

(It’s more efficient when he says nothing.)

“Never used to get involved. Never stayed in one place long enough to.”

Silver had known nothing but solitude, and he was fine with it. Until Flint. 

A lot of his life can be summed by these two words: until Flint.

He never loved a person before, until Flint. (And yes he includes Madi in this statement; how could he have loved her if he had stayed the same reckless, selfish man? She would have never looked at him.)

His life never mattered to anyone, until Flint. (He became a Quartermaster and a King without asking for any prestige or position.) (He became the one people depend on.) (It scares him shitless.)

“It’s a difficult habit to shake.”

Thomas hums noncommittally. “A habit you are willing to discard for the benefit of Nassau but not your own.” 

The statement is rising a new wave of nausea in his throat, it prevents air to enter his chest properly and to voice his disapproval. 

“You are so determined to be an outcast, to remain at a safe distance and at the same time to play the game at the cost of your own skin if needs be.”

“What is your point?” asks Silver, his teeth so clench it’s a miracle any sound could pass. 

“You are still ready to bolt. Ready to live behind if it’s become too much.”

The burn on his back fuels his anger. He stands ready to bark an answer that will make Thomas regrets his presumption. 

(No one could have foreseen the lapdog could bite.)

Thomas doesn’t move, doesn’t steps back. He keeps talking in quiet certainty, showing a much stronger backbone than expected.

“You keep your card so close to your chest to protect yourself, to make sure there is an easy way out when you need it.” 

“You are wrong.”

_I have lived a life where I didn’t have anything to care for; no one I could count on but myself. I’m not eager to return to this life again._

The words taste like ash and blood and ink. 

“You have no idea the power I have invested. The fear and the love I can inspire in this place. You should not try to spite me.” 

Thomas smiles congenially. 

“I have a pretty good idea on the contrary. I held a similar power long before you became King. And I learnt the risk of standing for what I believe in. I might have given ammunitions to my enemies but at the very least, my allies never doubted me. You tell nothing and wait to see which way the wind will blow. This will cause your downfall as surely as if you… how do you say? Get involved. ”

Silver’s leg is weak and without his crutch it’s difficult to stand eye to eye with Thomas.

“So much for not being enemy.”

Again with the infuriating smile.

“Consider that if I were your enemy I wouldn’t even have to counter your words. I would just wait for you to build so much mistrust and doubt that any plan you might have will crumble under its own weight.”

“You’ve got sharp knives under that tongue M. Hamilton.”

“Most people often misjudge lack of aggressivity for lack of ability to strike where it hurts.”

Silver admits his defeat and slowly steps back. (It’s is not often that he is out witted this days.)

(Amara’s settlement of Marrons doesn’t count. Even though he had to pay from his person to convince them, they are now firmly under his influence.)

(Thomas was too quickly discarded.)

He manages to sits on the bed with difficulty under Thomas’s uncompromising stare. 

“What do you want of me?” he asks.

It reminds him too much of the same conversation they had on the dune.

(Is he fated to have the same talk over and over again?)

Thomas sits on his side; they are carefully not watching each other to keep any trace of confrontation between them. 

“No one ever won anything by giving their half best” he says. 

“I did not”

“You stepped back from the stake of your only economical resources” accuses Thomas. 

Silver frowns. Of all the things he did in Nassau, after the talk they just had, he had expected a more personal approach.

(He was ready to hear a sermon about Flint, not… politics.)

(Again, he made the same mistake and underestimate Thomas’s ruthlessness.)

“Jack Rackham is dealing with it” he explains carefully. 

(He will not make the same mistake a third time.) 

“With no help or supervision from you.”

“He doesn’t need my help or my supervision. And I know for sure he would not welcome them.”

“You are the King” says Thomas like it obviously means something.

“Jack Rackham might be a jackass but he has ruled on this island for months, he has sailed among these seamen for a decade, he brought them prosperity and more gold that they ever dreamed on. He is capable of stepping up when no one will, and stepping down when needed. He has a fine understanding of the crew’s politics and he has Max’s support which is no small feat. I, on the other hand, know nothing of how to manage an economy such as Nassau’s. It makes no sense I would impose on Jack’s authority in this matter.”

Thomas absorbs the information quietly.

“Most Kings centralized power and influence” he comments tentatively. “Even when they do not have the skills to yield it.”

“Most Kings are idiots then.”

“What about your support?”

The question puzzles Silver for a moment. “What support?” he finally asks.

“Your political approval if you prefer.”

“What of it?”

Thomas obviously tries not to get annoyed by his lack of understanding. 

“You said you have given Jack Rackham the task of dealing with the Sailing aspect of Nassau.”

Silver interrupts him.

“I did not give him anything. Jack is the most efficient man to manage it, so he does.” 

“But the power he holds over the other Captains is on your name. The legitimacy of his action can only be approved by you.”

Now it’s Silver who tries not to be annoyed by the topic and lack of understanding in Thomas argument. 

“They follow Jack’s lead, not because I endorse him, but because he is damn good at what he does. They know our situation is precarious; they also know what we are capable of and are unwilling to be on our bad side. Yet they are curious about what we could accomplish together. This is the reason why they stay.”

“Do not take it the wrong way, but it astonish me how you understand human nature so thoroughly and yet so sparsely at the same time. Why do you think it’s getting so long to make then agree on anything? It has little to do with the actual topic of the negotiation. They are all evaluating the political influences at play. From an outsider perspective your lack of interest in the Captain’s council reduces your weight; they think they can discard you as a pawn. But you have the support of the people, now of the Maroon. Your influence goes further than they can understand and in a much more chaotic fashion than Captain Rackham. So they have to reevaluate their position on the board constantly to see which allies they will follow.”

Silver ponders the assessment, such a miscalculation could be disastrous for his plan. If Thomas is right, the Council could be seen as a competitor to the Pirates Code. 

When he became a Quartermaster on _the Walrus_ he was expected to know so much stuff: wind and sails and treasure hunting and the fucking value of silk… The most valuable lesson he learnt from that time was to identify the person with the needed skill and let them answer the question. No, he made sure they were in the best disposition to exploit their skill. 

He made sure to put Jack Rackham on the right disposition so he could manage the Sailing Company and incidentally renew the Captains Council.

His method is not obsolete as much as… incomplete. 

(Does he need a skilled politician then? To navigate the trouble water and avoid another debacle.)

“You have more experience with this.” It’s not exactly a question but not exactly a statement either.

“Holding political intrigues for yourself or for your crew is not the same as ruling a country, even as small as New Providence. It’s not just about scale. What is expected of you is different” answers Thomas.

“You sound willing to get involved.” It should not be so suspicious but Silver needs to gauge Thomas seemingly new motivations. There is too much he did not see coming from him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I appreciate you did not try to manipulate my decision to help you.”

“You are here, you are taking the risk of damaging the peace between us for this, and there is no need to manipulate you if you have already made your decision. Except if you are planning on walking back halfway. “

Thomas huffs in amusement. He seems to hold himself to the same standard he holds Silver.

“It is not entirely for your benefit. It felt good to dance back into my own skin; old steps made new. I… have been missing myself. This is an opportunity to return on my own terms.”

Relearn who you are (cast aside an old and used persona and turn into something more.)

(Yeah, Silver can understand.)

“Even if you go too fast too far?”

It could be pushing too far the new boundaries between them, but Thomas is willing to work with him. Silver’s last wish is to be burden by him (or worse, to have Flint actively working against him to spare Thomas the pain).

“It is among the things I must relearn to trust my partners to take care of me and know my limitations. Maybe it is a skill we could both relearn together, even if they haven’t buried under the same root.”

Silver scoffs at the very idea. Just because he doesn’t actively look for Flint to provide help doesn’t mean he does not trust it.

(Right?)

“What makes you think you know what I have buried?”

“The reason why you are so scared about James is no mystery to me.”

“Oh please enlighten me then.”

(He promised himself not to underestimate Thomas a third time.) 

(Why can’t he respect his promises?)

“What scares you is to give him the same power over you than you have over him.”

“You are a dangerous man to be around Mr Hamilton.”

Thomas smiles amiably in answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Change takes time and effort.   
> And damn but so does this work...
> 
> Sorry about the delay. I hope you will enjoy this as much as I did when I wrote it (even if it was excrutiating)


End file.
